


To Catch a Turtle Dove

by SpicyChestnut, WaterChestnut (SpicyChestnut)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Assasination Plots, Badass Nami (One Piece), Balls and Galas, Corsets and Crinolines, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fictional One Piece Kingdom, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Investigations, Lami is alive, Law is a lord, Nami-centric (One Piece), Nobility, Ope Ope no Mi | Op-Op Fruit, Political Intrigue, Politics, Romance, Scheming, Slow Burn, Thieving, Undercover Missions, and Nami is a turtle dove, drama and tension, kingdom - Freeform, social politics, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyChestnut/pseuds/SpicyChestnut, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyChestnut/pseuds/WaterChestnut
Summary: A bookstore clerk by day, a skilled thief by night; Nami didn’t choose this life, it chose her—but she’s learned to make the best of things in a cold, impersonal world. She has her friends, an odd bunch though they may be, and she’s managing to keep her ill sister alive pawning stolen goods. But when an opportunity presents itself to sneak into a ball held by the Province’s ruling Lord Trafalgar Law, a ball whose guest list includes the wealthiest of Flevance, she decides to leap on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But every thief slips up eventually—underestimates at least one target. If only she hadn’t underestimated him. / LawNa Victorian AU
Relationships: Nami/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Comments: 114
Kudos: 124





	1. Her Mark

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is sort of a blend of the One Piece universe and western Victorian (there will be devil fruits), and wholly inspired by Cameron Diaz’s character Jenny Everdeane in Gangs of New York. It takes place in the fictional kingdom of Grandlin, which is divided into 6 different troubled provinces each ruled by a lord in the service of a corrupt king  
> [(map here)](https://waterchestnut123.tumblr.com/post/189303448114/hastily-scribbled-map-of-the-kingdom-of-grandlin). I’ve outlined this fic to completion and my goal is to produce shorter chapters more frequently. But TBH I have no idea how publication on this will go since it was completely unexpected and unplanned. Updates will come… whenever they come.
> 
> Please enjoy and don't forget to review! This is my first ever Victorian AU.  
> (There will 100% be lots of jokes about crinolenes, girdles, and corsets).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Turtle Dove:** A particular type of female thief favoring home burglaries, characterized by the use of her gender, stealth, subtlety, and disguise to steal from her targets, keeping her presence and identity as concealed from the target as possible. As opposed to a pickpocket or robber, the turtle dove is subtle, and aims to keep their victim unaware of the theft until long past when the theft occurred, such that the target is unsure whether it was truly theft or mere carelessness which led to the disappearance of the item.

She stepped off the carriage lightly, boot heels clacking on the cold cobblestone beneath her feet. Carefully adjusting her posture to disguise the small bundle hidden beneath her velvet cloak, she turned briefly to offer a demure nod and polite thank you to the driver before crossing the road, the snap of his reins sounding behind her.

The November sun was low in the sky—a mere hour of sunlight left at most, casting long shadows over the well-heeled avenue. A cold breeze blew across the road carrying with it the imminent threat of winter and she drew inward, tucking her cloak around her more tightly as she crossed. Keeping her face carefully concealed beneath her hat as she passed an elderly gentleman twirling his cane, she navigated the familiar path to the tradesman’s home which she had spent weeks casing.

The residents were due to depart for their winter home in the south this morning, leaving only a small handful of servants behind to keep watch of the house; servants who, she knew, would be absent to spend the holiday with their families, making the home vacant for a scant few evening hours. Though she was loath to use their well-earned family time to hit her mark and lay the blame squarely upon their shoulders should her thefts be discovered, life was cruel and frankly, even as overworked and under appreciated as they likely were, they were still far better off than most.

Besides—she was doing it for Nojiko. Nojiko and Rebecca. She couldn’t forget that.

The streets were thankfully beginning to empty—few would be about by sundown on this day of feasting and thanks, and for that she was grateful; it made picking the lock on the gate to the side alley of the home much easier, particularly with the trembling of her chilled fingers slowing her progress. After several tense moments the lock clicked and she pushed it open, quietly slipping into the dark of the alley.

The servant’s entrance lay just around the bend, and once more she pulled out her tools and carefully picked the lock on the rear door, hearing the thunk of the deadbolt sliding back. Pushing on the handle, she glanced quickly down the alley before stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind her.

The home was by no means warm, but it was more comfortable than the chilly evening air. With some regret she removed her hat and shed her cloak, placing both on hooks by the door and unfolding the bundle she’d carried beneath it. With a flick of her wrist she unfurled a white apron, tying it neatly over her voluminous black skirt before placing a white lace bonnet atop her head and tying the straps beneath her chin. On the off chance any happened to catch sight of her through a window, she would seem to the untrained observer nothing more than a dutiful maid.

Smoothing out her skirt, she straightened and glanced around cautiously, ears tuned for wayward footsteps or voices. Though it was unlikely anyone was still here, she had not gone her whole life without being caught for no reason. Caution and subtlety were the pillars of her trade, and essential to a successful job.

Satisfied the home was indeed empty and that her disguise had been successfully applied, she took off down the hall. The home was large and long with many rooms. Rich burgundy rugs lined the hallway and elaborate oil paintings hung from walls decorated with intricately patterned wallpapers. It took several tries before she managed to find the master suite, but upon opening her fifth door, she smiled triumphantly. Stepping inside, she made a beeline for the elegant wooden vanity sitting in the corner beside a potted plant. A smoothly polished wooden box sat atop its equally polished surface, and when she made to lift its lid found the object tightly locked. She frowned, pulling out her picks again. Rich people and their damned locks.

She made quick work of it, hearing a quiet click before tucking the tools back in her billowing sleeves and lifting the lid. Worth it, though, as inside were dozens of gold and gemstone studded necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. She sifted carefully through them, choosing five of the twenty or so which lay neatly in the box, sliding them over her head and tucking them into the high neckline of her dress. Closing the lid, she carefully re-locked it and turned for the carved wooden dresser opposite the room.

Men were always much easier, leaving their valuables in easily accessed places. Opening the top drawer, she found a small lidless box containing several gold and silver watch chains, buckles, and scarf pins. She selected one of each—those that seemed of greatest value and rarity, unbuttoning the top of her dress and tucking them into her cleavage.

The dining room was next and she quickly found the gold and silver napkin rings tidily tucked away in a drawer of the china hutch, grabbing a single set of gold rings and sliding them between her breasts to rest against the watch chain. She fidgeted uncomfortably a moment as she adjusted her corset, then glanced out the front window, noting the position of the sun. She shouldn’t linger too much longer, but…

She could do it, if she hurried.

Turning, she headed back down the hall, opening and closing more doors in search of her final mark—the study. After three misses she found it, closing the door quietly behind her as she glanced about the room. A large, ornately carved wooden desk sat on one side of the room, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf built into the wall behind it. And to the left, below the wall sconce… aha! A large, metal safe sat freely against the wall, and she headed right for it.

She quickly lowered herself to the ground, pressing an ear against the cold metal before bringing her hand to the dial, closing her eyes as she listened carefully to the click of the tumblers. It was an easy break; the code was pathetically predictable--the address of the home backwards. Expertly twirling the dial to rest on the final number, she relished the satisfying thunk of the lock giving way.

The safe door squeaked open much more loudly than she would have preferred, and she scrunched her nose in distaste; but her expression quickly morphed into delight as the safe’s contents came into view: several gold bars, bags of gold coins, and various papers piled on different shelves—presumably family documents and the deed to the home. She eyed the gold bars a moment before reaching instead for a the bags of coins. They were tempting, but far too obvious. She stole from this neighborhood much too often to risk calling the authorities’ attention to it.

So she settled for the coins, lifting a small handful from within and filling what space remained inside her corset with the cool, circular metal, flinching at its chill against her skin. She set the bags back—at a glance no one would notice they’d had their contents reduced, and quickly closed the safe once more, spinning the lock. Glancing at a clock situated atop the fireplace mantle, she quickly stood and headed for the door. It was time to go.

She strode out of the office, taking care to leave the room just as she found it as she hurried into the dining room to do the same. A cursory glance of the spacious room ensured everything was as it should be, the hutch appearing utterly untouched. As she turned to head back for the servant’s entrance, a loud, firm knock sounded at the door—and she froze mid-step.

Her heart thundered in her chest and she dared not breathe. Surely no one could have contacted the authorities in the short time she’d been in here?

The dining room being at the front of the home, she carefully moved to the window which looked out on the avenue, peeking through the curtains to glance at the front stoop. What she saw was not an officer, much to her relief, but a messenger, his bag hanging low on his hip. The man approached the door again and knocked, hard. She pulled away from the window, willing her heart to slow as she waited for the man to give up and leave. Minutes passed but he was oddly persistent, continuing his efforts twice more before, finally, calling from beyond the threshold.

“Is anyone home? I carry urgent mail for the master of the house!”

Nami frowned, debating. She was losing valuable daylight, and she was reticent to risk returning home in the darkness. Despite her many skills, she was still guised as a wealthy woman—in heavy, movement restricting skirts. It was unlikely she could fend off any assailants should she be confronted. The man knocked again, calling once more and she grit her teeth.

This damned messenger just wouldn’t go away!

Firming her resolve, she pulled away from the wall, buttoning her high-necked top up and smoothing her skirt. She was Cat Thief Nami, dammit. She could deal with this. Taking a fortifying breath, she began heading for the front door. With a flick she turned the lock and pulled the heavy wood open, smiling demurely at the messenger despite the racing of her heart.

“Apologies, sir,” she said in an accented tone, “’Ow can I ‘elp you?”

The man bowed briefly, handing her a small stack of letters. “I carry urgent mail for the master of the home. Please see to it that he receives them forthwith.”

She reached out and took the letters, offering him a curtsy. “Of course. Thank you very much, sir.”

He tilted his cap. “Have a good evening miss.”

She offered him another demure smile. “You too, sir.”

Closing the door behind her, she quickly locked it and slumped against the wood, letting out a ragged breath. It was now _high_ past time for her to get the _hell_ out of here.

She moved to toss the stack of letters in the waste bin beneath the entryway table where they would be hidden by the other piles of rubbish, but as she turned her wrist to angle for the bin the seal on the topmost letter caught her eye. Embedded in the rich red wax was the unmistakable snow leopard crest of the Lord of the province—the crest of the Trafalgars. She furrowed a brow, curiosity getting the better of her. Reaching for her belt, she pulled a small knife from the folds, carefully sliding the blade between the wax and the paper until the wax popped free. She pulled from within the envelope a folded invitation, looping, cursive text making it difficult to read. She did, however, manage to discern after several trying moments the words, ‘Invited’, ‘ball’, and ‘castle’. Slowly, a smile rose to her face and she slid the invitation carefully back into its envelope, tucking it up her sleeve.

A ball at the Lord’s castle, huh? She could have Robin read her the details when she got home, but this was a most unexpected and potentially lucrative opportunity. If she could sneak into the Lord’s castle during a ball—right through the front door no less, heavens! Just think of all the riches waiting to be lifted! All the wealthy lords and ladies draped in gold and diamonds—a whole castle full of people utterly distracted and lulled into complacency, a large crowd to hide in, and drinks aplenty to lower everyone’s guard and twist their recollections. Oh, this was an opportunity all right!

She hurried through the house, thoughts awhirl as she removed her bonnet and apron, neatly folding them before putting her coat and hat back on. Tucking the bundle beneath the burgundy velvet, she snuck back out the servant’s entrance and out the alley, locking both doors behind her before continuing on down the street.

The sun was nearly set, a lamplighter clearly having been through while she was inside as the lamps lining the street were all aflame, casting dancing shadows over the darkening cobblestones. She walked quickly—but not too quickly, no need to draw attention to herself, down the street towards the distant trade district. Given the hour she wasn’t sure many coaches would be about, and she may have to walk the several miles back to the bookshop—a thought she dreaded, given her uncomfortable 'proper' ladies boots (no wonder these wealthy women always looked like they had a dead fish under their nose).

After several minutes, though, the rhythmic click of her heels lulled her thoughts elsewhere and she found herself contemplating her haul. She’d chosen well—the home had had quite a few rare items. The opal necklace in particular was a nice find. She wouldn’t know for sure until she took the items to Brook’s pawn shop, but she would wager in sum she’d snatched enough to last Nojiko and Rebecca at least four months. Though, it seemed unlikely she’d have much left over to save for Nojiko’s treatment. She sighed.

That was the eternal problem. No matter how much she stole, no matter how successful her jobs or how wealthy her marks, she only ever seemed to steal enough to get Nojiko comfortably by another few months. The cost of the surgery was extraordinary, and after two years she’d barely managed to save up a fifth of what she’d need. Nojiko, the selfless and uncompromising woman she was, never complained about her condition, always putting on some cheer when she managed to visit; but Nami knew—could see it in the bags beneath her eyes, the weariness pulling on her shoulders. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, it was plain as day: Nojiko was getting weaker, and Nami was running out of time.

Absently, she felt for the invitation tucked away in her sleeve.

If this worked out, the Lord’s party could be the opportunity she needed to finally make some headway. It would require a lot more prep than usual; she’d need to get her hands on a layout of the castle, research the guest list, buy an evening dress for the occasion (she didn’t even want to think about what that would cost)…

It would be… risky. Much riskier than usual. It was one thing to burgle the empty home of a well-to-do tradesman, it was quite another to burgle the Lord of the province right under his own nose. And if she got caught… well, she didn’t want to think about that, either.

But she was up the challenge. She was Cat Thief Nami, dammit; her skills were legendary! Or, they would be if anyone knew it was she who had done the thieving. And she had so much to potentially _gain_ …

For Nojiko. Nojiko and Rebecca.

The clacking of hooves echoed quietly on the cobblestones behind her and she started, turning to spot a lone taxi traveling up the road toward her. She smiled broadly, feeling her feet scream in relief. Pulling one arm from beneath her cloak, she waved at the carriage, whose driver nodded in acknowledgment as he steered towards her.

Maybe things really were looking up after all.


	2. Found Family

Nami neatly slid the last book from the cart onto the worn wooden shelf, stepping down the ladder with a weary huff. She glanced idly around the shop—in her preoccupation she’d lost track of Robin. Calling out softly, her voice bounced, muffled, off the many rows of books.

“Robin? Are you still in here?”

She heard soft footsteps from the loft above and the woman in question leaned over the railing, dark hair falling in her eyes as she glanced down, voluminous violet skirts bleeding through the bars of the railing.

“Up here, Nami. Did you finish sorting and restocking?”

“All done. If you don’t need anything else before closing, if it’s alright with you I thought I’d head to the tavern early? I wanted to help Sanji with Chopper’s birthday cake.”

Robin nodded, waving her hand with a demure smile.

“Go ahead. I’m almost done here, I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Nami grinned. “Thanks Robin. I’ll see you in a bit!”

She turned, nimbly navigating the cramped shop until she reached the rear of the store, pulling her patchy, tartan cloak from a carved wooden rung against the wall. Throwing it over herself, she neatly secured the clasp, righted her hair, and headed for the door. The bell gave a tinkling ring, and she called over her shoulder without slowing.

“Bye Robin!”

“Bye Nami!” she heard in faint reply, the door swinging shut behind as the noise of the bustling street overtook Robin’s soft voice. She stood a moment in the shelter of the storefront doorway, adjusting her cloak and donning her gloves before darting out into the street, heading north.

Though she’d grown up in the quiet, rural Conomi islands of Goa and developed a fierce love for its solitude in her younger years, the busyness of Flevance’s trade district—the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, the shout of carriage drivers and the chatter of passersby, had quickly become to her the sounds of home.

She navigated the evening traffic with experienced footwork, easily dodging distracted shoppers and racing children, carefully hugging her skirts to her legs to keep them from snagging on the carts of fruit and vegetable vendors lined along the side of the road. She was eternally grateful that Robin, unlike many of the local shopkeepers, had a “no-crinolene” policy at work. As she watched a woman dislodge several oranges from a fruit cart with her wide skirt, apologizing profusely to the vendor who observed with crossed arms as her husband stooped to pick up the fruit, she could almost hear Robin’s humorous lilt in her ear.

‘Hardly appropriate for navigating narrow spaces, wouldn’t you agree? Why we would just constantly knock books over, and then where would we be?’

Nami chuckled quietly.

As she neared, she carefully circumnavigated the sputtering woman, offering a nod to the vendor who had supplied her afternoon snacks for the past two years.

“Evening, Geo!”

He looked up, annoyance momentarily morphing into friendly familiarity as he caught sight of her.

“Evening, Nami!”

The sun was nearing the horizon as she approached the outskirts of the district, the cold air rolling down the snow-tipped mountains into the city’s crowded streets. Nami hugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill air sneaking through the patchy fabric. She was rather overdue some new blouses. The frigidity of Flevance winters was legendary throughout Grandlin, and it was quickly approaching the time of year when her thinner, low-necked summer blouses would no longer suffice. Not that she could really afford the luxury of a new button-up, not when she had already spent so much on a second-hand evening gown for the ball. Her heavily patched tartan cloak would simply have to do a while longer.

She smiled. After, though—once she had her haul in hand, then she could splurge on all the winter apparel she could possibly need—perhaps even purchase her very own Pappagu original, if she played her cards right.

As she left the trade district proper the crowds significantly thinned, and she turned off the main avenue onto a smaller side street. Sanji’s tavern was a bit out of the way, but anyone with good taste knew where it was and took no issue with the added effort to reach it. His cooking was easily the best in the city, and it was only his modesty and desire for creative culinary freedom that stopped him from expanding into the wealthier, more populated parts of town.

She rounded another corner, and soon the lights of the tavern came into view, his wooden sign swaying gently in the chill breeze. A piece of parchment was tacked to the tall wooden door, and as she approached could see Sanji’s elegant scrawl written large across it. She stilled before the door a moment, brow furrowed as she struggled to make out the words; but once she did, she smiled:

“Closed for private event.”

This would be the first time they had all been together in far too many months.

“Oi! Luffy, get DOWN!”

“Shishishishi!”

Sanji and Luffy’s voices—boisterous as always, sounded through the closed door and Nami let out a breathy laugh, pushing on the wood just below the sign. Luffy was, as she probably should have expected, hanging from the worn wooden chandelier, a drumstick in hand and several bones lying on the table beneath him. Sanji was angrily jabbing a soup ladle in his direction, while Usopp and Chopper rolled on the floor laughing at the spectacle.

“I see I arrived just in time,” she said calmly, pulling off her cloak and gloves and relishing the heat from the large, crackling fire at the far side of the room as it returned sensation to her numbed extremities. She draped her winter attire over the nearest chair, placing a hand on her hip as she turned a stern eye up to Luffy.

“Oi, Luffy! We have HAD this conversation before. No acrobatics while eating! We’re here to celebrate Chopper’s birthday and it would be a right shame if he had to perform the Heimlich on you because you accidentally swallowed a bone. Again.”

“Listen to the woman, dammit!” Sanji shouted, waving his soup ladle once more for good measure before letting out an exasperated breath and righting his apron, turning back for his kitchen.

Upon hearing her stern tone Luffy stopped swinging, instead hanging limp from the ceiling, rubber arm several times longer than it should be.

“Aw, but Nami—”

“No buts! Down!” she said firmly, pointing to the chair below him.

He pouted further but did not argue, releasing his hold on the chandelier as he landed with a thump in the seat below him, grumbling while he took more bites from his drumstick. She couldn’t help the quirk of her lips as she strode over to him, eying him sternly a moment longer before breaking into a smile and enveloping him a fierce hug.

“You can swing from the chandelier AFTER you’re done eating,” she murmured, smile growing as his grin returned.

She turned from the rubber man as the gusto of his eating increased, finding Chopper and Usopp collecting themselves and retaking their seats, and a card game left half-finished on the table. She smiled at the sight; Usopp had been unsure if he would be able to make it up from Rocky Port during tuna season, and she was glad he’d been able to make the time. Though by the looks of it, it had been a rushed journey given he still wore his waders. She strode over, giving Usopp a tight hug.

“It’s great to see you, Usopp! I’m really happy you could make it.”

“I couldn’t miss Chopper’s 20th birthday!” he replied with a grin, giving chopper a gentle punch to the shoulder.

She nudged him playfully before turning to reindeer in question, hands finding purchase on his small, furry shoulders.

“Speaking of which—happy birthday, Chopper,” she said with a broad smile, pulling him in for a kiss on the forehead. Chopper blushed, wriggling in his seat under her attention.

“Aw, thanks Nami,” he cooed, grinning ear to ear.

“I’m going to go help Sanji with your cake. Kick his butt, Chopper! And Usopp—I saw that.”

Usopp froze with his hand hovering nonchalantly above the cards, and she turned her head to eye him pointedly.

“Aw, Nami! Come on, he’s already gotten 100 Belli out of me!”

She shrugged, turning. “Learn to be better at cards then!” she singsonged with a wave of her hand, heading across the room towards the bar.

She found Sanji in the kitchen, simultaneously tending to a large pot of stew, Chopper’s cake, and a warming bottle of sake.

“Ah, Nami-san! Perfect timing. Could you finish frosting the cake for me?” he inquired, rotating his cigarette to the other side of his mouth as he carefully added a small bowl of spices to the bubbling pot.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said with a smile, grabbing an apron from the wall and tying it over her dress. She had just picked up the bowl of frosting and the spatula when she heard the door slam open, and a resounding “Suuuuuupeeerr!”

“Ahaha, Franky! Zoro!” Came Luffy’s laughing voice, and she watched out of the corner of her eye with amusement as Sanji tsk’d and set down his ladle, reaching for the bottle of sake.

“Oi! Cook! Where’s my sake?!”

Sanji turned, heading out into the tavern, bottle and glass in hand.

“It’s coming you damn moss-head!”

She returned her attention to the task at hand, carefully spreading the strawberry buttercream Sanji had left for her atop the light and fluffy cake layers, only absently noting the cook’s return to the kitchen in her focus. Layer after layer, carefully spread even and smooth. Delicate strawberry slices lay beside the buttercream and she placed them artfully around its sides, and once the bowl was empty she stood back, admiring her handiwork.

Digging through drawers for a box of matches and candle, Sanji lifted a serving platter filled with steaming bowls of stew and backed out through the swinging doors into the tavern as the final members of their party, Brook and Robin, strolled through the door.

Since this was Chopper, his sweet tooth legendary, cake was to come before the meal and so she neatly placed the candle in the center of the pink cake as a chorus of “Happy Birthday” erupted from beyond the kitchen. Lifting the cake platter, she backed out of the kitchen through the swinging doors and turned to see her odd little family gathered around a beaming Chopper, smiles wide on every face.

She was suddenly struck, then, by how very far she’d come in only two years.

For two years ago she had hit rock bottom: fresh off a boat from Cocoyasi—quickly penniless and homeless in the dead of January, slowly dying of exposure on the street. They all had been lost, and found, in Flevance—each a runaway from their own private tragedy. For her part she’d fled the clutches of the Fishemen—a vicious gang overtaking her island home, hording all the islands’ wealth and resources behind the high stone walls of their compound. She’d been found by Luffy—as many of them had, after falling ill in the gutter and giving up hope. It was he who’d taken her to Robin who unquestioningly took her in, offered her work, friendship, and a path forward. Bit by bit she fell into this strange family of theirs, and bit by bit she’d grown to once more know happiness—a feeling she hadn’t experienced since before her mother’s murder.

She still had worries—concerns, obligations, difficulties; they all did. But in two years she’d gone from living hand to mouth, surviving on the meager scraps the Fishmen would permit their village, to… a proper life; a life full of friendship and happiness and prospects. Fleeing to Flevance hadn’t solved all her problems, certainly, for much like the islands Flevance had its share of struggles; but it had given her a chance, and it had given her hope.

Her smile broadened as their song came to an enthusiastic but off-key end, and she set the tray down in front of Chopper, pulling a box of matches from the pocket of her dress and striking it nimbly on the box before bringing the flame to the solitary candle at its center.

“Make a wish, Chopper,” she said affectionately, taking her place at the table.

Chopper looked around at their group of friends, smile bright and eyes sparkling.

“I wish…” he began, brow furrowed and thoughtful, “I wish… for everyone to always be happy, and for us to always be friends.”

Then, with a deep breath, he blew out the candle—and everyone, her most of all, cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh, I'm on a roll and super happy with this chapter! Enthusiasm overfloweth!


	3. Friends Help Friends

She was nursing a mug of spiced mead beside the crackling fire at Baratie, her feet kicked up after several grueling hours of dance lessons with Sanji. He was an excellent teacher, all things considered; but she was proving a miserable student, despite giving it her sincerest effort all morning. She could hardly pass as an upper class lady at the ball if she couldn’t perform at least a basic waltz, on the off-chance she was cornered into dancing. Unfortunately, she’d just about waltzed herself to her limits, and so they had scheduled another time to finish polishing what little skill she possessed. Though the cook was encouraging and patient, she strongly suspected whatever mastery she attained in the coming days would have everything to do with his excellent form and tireless effort and nothing to do with her own talent.

It was barely mid-afternoon and already she was exhausted—and she still had several more errands to do before the day was over. But she at least had the benefit of an afternoon break here with Franky before heading off to see Brook.

As she downed the last of the flavorful mead, the very man she’d been waiting for entered through the front door, energetically rubbing calloused hands together to shake off the cold. He spotted her quickly in the empty tavern, awkwardly juggling an armful of rolled blueprints as he set his coat and hat on the hook before taking quick strides in her direction.

“Hey, Nami!” he greeted, slicking back mussed blue hair before taking the large wooden seat beside her own.

“’Bout time Franky. I was beginning to think you’d hit your head on a cross-beam again and forgotten you were supposed to meet me,” she teased, turning to him expectantly.

He brought a hand to his heart in mock-offense. “Oi, that hurts, sis! You’re talking to the best carpenter in the city, here!”

“And yet… it has happened enough times that I’ve lost count…” she commented wryly, setting her mug down on the table before her.

He leaned to the side where he’d propped his scrolls against the chair, picking a particularly old one and waggling it pointedly in front of her before haughtily propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Well I’d recommend changing your tune if I were you, because it just so happens that I don’t give mean women such valuable blueprints…”

She leaned forward eagerly, eyes wide and all teasing gone from her voice.

“You found it?!”

He gave her a brief consternated look before leaning forward and unrolling it onto the table.

“Well… sort of. I was able to find the blueprints from before the bombing. They claim to have rebuilt the castle exactly as it was, so with any luck there won’t be changes.”

She leaned forward to set gentle hands on the yellowed parchment, eyes roving the neatly etched lines before lifting the sheet and frowning.

“Where are the other floors?”

He nervously ran a hand through his hair.

“Well… I was only able to find the blueprints for the first floor. The archive is a mess and a bunch of stuff was water damaged or half-eaten by lice—”

“So… you got only the first floor, and even these are potentially outdated?” she inquired with distaste.

“Hey, these were damned hard to get my hands on! Besides, it was a long shot to think the Trafalgars would keep the blueprints to their castle at the city offices at all after they were attacked eight years ago. Give me some credit for getting this much at least!”

She bit her lip as she ran a hand gently over the weathered parchment. As much as she’d been hoping for more, he was right. It was pretty good that she’d been able to get this at all.

She’d have to make it work.

“Alright alright—credit where credit is due,” she conceded, turning to him with an appreciative smile. “Thanks Franky.”

He leaned back, mollified, eying her with a quirk of his brow.

“Well, now that that’s settled… how ‘bout that payment?”

She smirked and rolled her eyes, turning for her bag and digging out a rolled up magazine of moderate thickness.

“As promised,” she replied, handing it to him. Eagerness etched in his posture he quickly reached for it, flipping it open and keenly eying the pages before turning the publication sideway with appreciation.

“OW! Nice!” he enthused, as Sanji made his way over from the bar balancing a tray with two fresh mugs of spiced mead. She watched with amusement as the cook caught sight of the magazine’s contents, eyes suddenly bulging as a boyish grin split his face.

“Beautiful ladies!!” he crooned, sloshing the drinks down his apron as he momentarily forgot himself. Rolling her eyes, she reached for one of the two messy mugs atop his tray and thanked her stars Robin’s store had such an… eclectic collection.

—:—:—:—

Hours later, with the sun having disappeared behind a bank of clouds, the temperature fell significantly and she found herself deeply wistful of the warmth from Sanji’s fireplace. She held her bag tighter to her chest along with her cloak as she hurried toward a dingy storefront, carefully crossing the pothole-filled street and nimbly dodging numerous piles of horse dung. Her lips quirked as she caught sight of the familiarly worn and broken letters above the store reading “Brook’s Paw Shop”, the wooden ‘n’ having long since fallen off.

His establishment was far from the trade district where Robin’s bookshop was located, far south in the part of the city she never traversed without a knife and a scowl. But there was nowhere else in town for a man like Brook to set up shop when he was what he was—the Capitol’s trade association made quite sure of that. After all, having a devil fruit using shop owner—let alone a skeletal one, was, as they proclaimed, “off-putting,” and, “bad for the health and welfare of neighboring businesses”.

And so, Brook’s Pawn Shop had moved to the only place left to go: the slums.

With a gentle push she opened the heavy wooden door, stepping into the cramped, dimly lit shop. Brook stood behind the scuffed wooden counter, a jeweler’s magnifier against his empty eye socket as he examined a diamond pendant hanging from his bony fingers. The tinkle of the bell above the door caught his attention and she smiled as he glanced up. She quickly looked around the shop with faux disinterest, cocking her head at him.

“I still don’t see any paws in here, Brook,” she commented lightly.

“Yohoho! Ah, Nami-san! Your wit is as sharp as ever,” he said with a posture she could best approximate as amusement, setting the pendent and jeweler’s glass upon the counter. “What delightful goods have you—ahem, acquired, of late?”

She approached the counter, pulling her bag from within her cloak and undoing the clasp before carefully extracting the valuables.

“Oh, the usual. Although, I have one I think you might have a particular interest in—” she sifted through the pile to pull out one of the necklaces, resting the pendant against her knuckles and tilting it to glimmer colorfully in the faint lamp light. “Alabastan Opal, if I’m not mistaken?”

If he had eyes, she imagined they would have widened as he reached for the piece in her hand.

“Oh, Nami-san that is a find indeed,” he enthused, picking up his jeweler’s glass and examining the pendant closely.

She grinned, cat-like, leaning against the counter. “Such a rare gemstone, I would say it’s worth at least… 25,000 Belli.”

Brook was quiet as he turned the piece carefully in his hand, and she frowned when he tutted softly.

“Ah, I’m afraid your estimate is too high. This is a common opal not a precious one, and it is surrounded by diamond chips, not cut diamond—though it disguises it well. While Alabastan opal is hard to come by in these parts, the best I can do is 10,000.”

Though inwardly she grimaced, outwardly she put on a flashy smile.

“Ah, but Brook—if it looks to be of higher value, I should think that alone would make it worth more—you could easily sell it for 50,000 to an unsuspecting tradesman’s wife,” she argued confidently. “20,000 would be more than reasonable.”

“Yohohoho, you drive a hard bargain Nami-san! Alright, for you… 15,000.”

“19,000.”

“14,000.”

“22,000!”

“17,000!”

She eyed him a moment, before letting out a quiet breath. It was probably the best she would get.

“17, then,” she agreed.

“Yohoho, agreed!”

They exchanged additional pleasantries as they reviewed the remainder of her goods, all rather cut and dry gold and silver pieces. Though he knew quite well where her “finds” came from, they never explicitly discussed her methods, and so as stolen goods were exchanged for a stack of bills, she was surprised by the words which followed.

“Ah, Nami-san, before you go, If I may?”

She tucked the bills into her skirt pocket beneath her cloak, opting to keep her bag empty in the event of a mugging on her way home before looking up, head cocked in curious surprise at the wary concern in his voice.

“Of course, Brook.”

“It’s about your new, ah, job… A week or so from now? The rather… risky one.”

Nami’s eyes narrowed fractionally and she nodded slowly. “Yes…”

Brook leaned forward over the counter, speaking low and conspiratorially.

“I know you have only been in Flevance a few years, but Lord Trafalgar has a reputation for being… exceptionally cold and cunning. He was quite vicious towards his opposition upon returning to Flevance to retake his title after his parents were killed. I know you always are, but… please be careful, Nami-san. I would be quite distressed should anything happen to you.”

Her eyes softened, touched at the concern he rarely expressed so openly. She smiled gently, placing her hand atop his on the counter.

“Of course, Brook. Always.”

—:—:—:—:—

Despite her words of assurance—and despite her commitment to the job (she had, after all, already invested a good deal of time, money, and effort preparing for it), Brook’s words haunted her all the way back to Robin’s small apartment above the bookshop. His concerns were an uncomfortable reflection of her own—concerns which she had taken strides to shove to the back of her mind. It was too good an opportunity to waste, she had repeatedly insisted to herself, concern over Nojiko’s deteriorating condition ever present. But deep down she knew this was a massive leap up from the comfortable routine of petty theft she had developed over the past two years. Her pickpocketing skills had grown a tad rusty, as had her acting, having not had to resort to such risky and involved means since Cocoyasi. She knew she was talented, she knew she was capable, subtle, and experienced. But was she overestimating herself? Was she biting off more than she could chew? 

These concerns finally found voice later that evening as she and Robin sat comfortably in their small shared apartment, Robin reading by the fireplace while Nami finished stitching the hidden pockets beneath the pleats of her evening gown at the dining table.

Her hands stilled as his words played again in her mind, the soft crackle of the fire a stark contrast to her nagging worries. Finally she let out a sigh, sticking the needle in her pincushion and setting it atop the fabric before standing and making for the chair opposite Robin’s, plopping into it with a huff.

She sat in silence a moment, staring at the light of the flames flicker against the ashen brick, before speaking quietly.

“Robin? Can I ask you something?”

Robin looked up from her book, eying her companion with a gentle smile. “Of course, Nami.”

Nami looked away from the fire, holding Robin’s dark gaze as she worried her lip.

“Do you… think this job is too risky?”

Robin observed her critically a moment before carefully placing her bookmark and folding her book, setting it gently on her lap.

“What brings this on?”

“It’s… just something brook said to me today,” she confessed, “I know it’s a risk, but do you think its too much of a risk?”

Robin hummed thoughtfully, a knuckle rising to her chin. “Well… it is quite a bit riskier than normal, that is true. But you’re always quite careful, and you’ve been very thorough in your research and preparation. I think you can do it. I would advise getting into the habit of jobs like this, but… I’ve successfully done worse.”

She followed the assessment with a light shrug, and though the gesture was no hug or reassuring insistence, coming from Robin, it offered more comfort than either, and spoke volumes of the woman’s faith in her abilities. Feeling eased, Nami smiled.

“Thanks, Robin. And—by the way, when am I going to finally get those stories?” she teased.

Robin chuckled lightly, but did not answer the question; not that Nami expected she would. Despite their closeness, her past in Alabasta before moving to Flevance 5 years ago was a secret Robin kept close, and far be it from Nami to ardently demand she reopen old wounds for her sake. Instead, she moved her book the the small side table before standing.

“I think I’m going to head to bed. Could you take care of the fire tonight?”

Nami smiled and nodded. “Sure.”

“Goodnight Nami,” she said gently, turning for her bedroom.

“Goodnight Robin.”

The older woman’s door closed with a gentle thump. Stillness once more permeated the room, and Nami turned her attention back to the fire, its flames slowly shrinking as the wood gradually crumbled into glowing coals. She rather felt like that—like crumbling from weariness. She let out a tired sigh. It had been a long, busy day.

Though through no fault of his own, she had gotten less than she’d hoped for from Brook. He always gave her a fair price and asked no questions—for that she was eternally grateful; she had simply overestimated the value of her haul. She pulled out the wad of bills from her dress pocket, flipping through it. It would be enough to get Nojiko and Rebecca through the winter. Still, once again, she was left with little extra for herself or Nojiko’s medical fund.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle, she sighed again, making to stand. It was getting late, and she had to open the shop tomorrow, bright and early. Tucking the money back in her pocket, she reached for the fire poker and broke apart the rest of the log, spreading its coals around the fireplace. She blew out all of the lamps save for a candle, hiking up her dress and using it to guide her to her small bedroom opposite Robin’s.

Setting the candle on her rickety bedside table, she knelt to the floor, pulling back the ratty rug and carefully prying up a floorboard beneath it. Between the beams sat a small cigar box which she lifted with careful fingers, setting it on the floor and lifting its lid. A handful of expensive jewelry lay inside along with a small bag of coins—her ‘rainy day’ fund, should she ever need it, and soon, part of her disguise for the ball. She placed the wad of bills next to a glimmering diamond pendant necklace, closing the lid and placing it back beneath the floor.

Floorboard and rug replaced, corset and skirts removed, she shivered in her shift before slipping under her sheets, gritting her teeth against the chill fabric. It would warm to her body temperature soon enough. Settled, she reached over to the bedside for the candle, preparing to blow it out; but stopped when her eyes caught sight of the worn photograph in a cracked picture frame: of two young girls--one with persimmon hair, the other sky blue, and a woman with long auburn locks hugging them both tightly. She smiled softly, heart aching a little as it always did when she remembered better times—remembered why she took such risks.

Leaning forward she blew out the candle, rolling over in bed and willing herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a couple quick notes:
> 
> In this story, physically speaking Franky is pre-time skip (just because that's easier for me to formulate logistically. Like, you know, having him fit inside houses), though everyone else is post-time skip. I may or may not ever mention it in the fic, but Robin's Bookstore is called "Ohara Books", and while it was mentioned and is easily assumed, for clarification Sanji's tavern is called "Baratie".
> 
> And lastly, the magazine that Nami gives Franky is indeed a porn magazine. The idea was inspired by a real-life erotica magazine which was published during the late Victorian period called "The Pearl". It was tremendously popular and had some raunchy af shit in it. Google it if you're curious It's quite interesting (and I believe you can actually purchase print collections of some of its works).


	4. Nojiko and Rebecca

“Half a mast—just floatin’ there in the water off the cliffs!”

“Shipwreck, ya think?”

“That’s what ‘e thinks, least. Up near the northern coast of Flevance.”

Nami leaned against the deck railing of the ferry keeping her absent gaze on the approaching docks, but tuned a curious ear toward the fisherman conversing against the cabin wall behind her.

“Makes sense. Those waters are damn scary. Any survivors?”

“None that ‘e found when ‘e went ta look, though ‘e said ‘e didn’ get too close—you know ‘ow the tide is up there. ‘e did find a piece ‘o hull though. Poor crew musta gotten thrashed on the rocks in that storm th’other day.”

The second man tutted, a protesting squeal from the hinges of the cabin door sounding behind her before the loud thud of it closing, muffled voices continuing through the wall.

She shook her head. It was a right shame, if true—no one deserved to die at the hands of the northern coast. They were the most treacherous waters in all of Grandlin, subject to strong winds, unpredictable tides, hidden rocks, and occasional sheets of ice. She would have to remember to mention it to Robin once she returned home tomorrow, though—the older woman always was oddly fascinated by such morbid stories.

The wind and sea spray began to die down as the ferry approached the Cocoyasi docks, and Nami felt a familiar twinge of homesickness as the deck hand jumped off the boat onto the docks, another shipmate tossing him a rope to secure the craft. The two fisherman and only other passengers—headed to a different island in the chain—returned to the deck, conversation now focused on the falling price of tuna as she pulled away from the rail and made for the short gangplank now being lowered.

Nami stepped carefully down the sloping wood, heels thumping noisily as she landed on the worn dock. It had been at least six months since she’d been here—early summer and sunny with blue skies. Now, though the islands were far warmer than Flevance, still the approach of winter was evident in the grey clouds covering the sun from view and the subtle bite to the air. A gentle breeze pulled at the hair she wore long and loose down her back as she tucked her bag more firmly under her elbow and made her way down the dock and towards the village which raised her.

It was an eaasy walk up the dirt road, Cocoyasi visible atop the crest of the hill. She gazed at it fondly before turning her head to follow the path she knew lay beyond her sight, from the village’s center to the cliff jutting into the ocean on her left, where her childhood home lay hidden by the trees.

As she approached the village’s small main street two young boys playing a raucous game of tag spotted her. Jonny careened to a halt in the middle of the road, waving enthusiastically in her direction and ignoring his companion who ran headlong into his back.

“Namiii! Welcome back!”

She smiled at the boy, his companion soon spotting her and waving as well. They didn’t wait for her to reach them, instead running up to her, eyes expectant.

“Did you bring us anything from Flevance?”

Yosaku always did cut right to the chase. She laughed lightly, crossing her arms and bringing a finger to her chin.

“Hmmmm… Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Perhaps if you remind me who the most beautiful woman in all the Conomi islands is, my memory might return…”

“You are!” They shouted in unison, saluting her with practiced ease and wide, appeasing grins. She smiled.

“And don’t you two forget it!”

Hand slipping into her pocket, she tossed each of them a small bag of Sanji’s homemade lemon drops with a wink. “Courtesy of the best chef in the Capitol.”

“Thanks Nami!” they chimed enthusiastically before running off into the trees, giggling. She smiled fondly, watching them settle at the base of an old stump before continuing on to the village.

The main thoroughfare was rather empty, fisherman still out for the day and the women likely tending to lunch. A few who noticed her popped their heads out into the street to say hello, and she cheerfully greeted them in return.

She reached her first stop quickly, stepping up to the small clinic at the end of town. Inside Nako sat at his desk on the far side of the room, oblivious to her entrance until the door swung shut with a thump. He looked up and smiled upon seeing her, waving her over.

“Ah, Nami! Good to see you—it’s been a while!”

She smiled, striding towards the desk.

“Hey Nako. How are you?”

He stood and offered her a hug before settling into his chair, sitting back as he observed her leaning against the desk.

“Ah, I’m quite well. Here about Nojiko I presume?”

“Yes—how has she been doing? Are her tests looking any better with the new medication?”

The jovial look on Nako’s face fell slightly, and he sighed. Nami felt her own smile fall as well.

“Well… she’s not worse. It’s difficult to say she’s doing much better, though.”

Nami nodded with a small sigh, reaching into her bag.

“I suspected as much. Any outstanding payments due?”

Nako nodded, reaching for his ledger and flipping through it.

“Ah, not too much. 300 Belli. I was going to go up there this afternoon to collect it, actually.”

Nami smiled wryly. “Well, I’ll save you a trip, then.”

She counted out the bills and set them on his desk.

“Are you heading up there now?” he inquired, turning for a drawer.

“Next stop.”

“Could you bring her this? I wanted to start her on a vitamin supplement. I worry she’s not eating enough. In fact… if its not too much, make her lunch while you’re there? I think she could use a good meal.”

Nami reached for the bottle of white powder, tucking it and a proffered measuring spoon into her bag.

“One spoonful in a meal or drink a day.” He instructed.

“I’ll pass that on,” she responded, looking up to hold his gaze meaningfully. “Thank you, Nako.”

He smiled kindly, standing to escort her as she headed for the door.

“Anything for you girls. You take care now, you hear?”

“You too.”

She bid him farewell, waving as she stepped back out onto the road and took a side path up the cliff to the cottage.

A sea breeze blew in off the water, the scent of salt filling her nostrils, and she tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, thoughts far away. Nojiko could really use more help. Nami was already making the budget stretch fantastically to accommodate employing Chabo to maintain the tangerine grove for her; and Rebecca’s expenses were ever growing…

She let out a familiar sigh. The answer was the same as it had always been.

They needed more money.

Almost before she realized it the small cottage was looming before her and she shook her head to clear her troubled thoughts, putting on a cheerful smile. Aunties should always be smiling. Straightening, she knocked firmly on the door and soon Genzo answered, a bouncing, giggling Rebecca on his shoulders.

“Ah, Nami! Good to see you! Come in, come in!”

He smiled broadly, standing aside as Rebecca began animatedly attempting to wriggle out of Genzo’s hold.

“Nami! Nami! Nami!” she chanted and Nami laughed, turning to the excited toddler.

“Becka! Becka! Becka!” Nami chanted right back, a finger rising to tap the girl on the nose, eliciting a delighted squeal.

Genzo chuckled, closing the door and shepherding her into the small living room where Rebecca’s efforts to reach for Nami finally became too much for the older man. With a huff, he reached up and lifted her, extending her to Nami’s waiting arms.

“Nami!” squealed the girl, and Nami laughed.

“Rebecca!” she echoed, giving the girl a tight hug.

“Dids a bwing pwesents?” the girl inquired with wide eyes, and Nami tutted.

“Little girl, I think you’re getting spoiled!”

“Spoiled gets pwesents?” she inquired seriously, and Genzo laughed.

“I did warn you Nami,” he opined with amusement, plopping down onto the living room sofa with an exhausted huff.

Nami chuckled, setting Rebecca on the floor and kneeling before her while digging through her bag.

“Well, miss Rebecca, I do have a present—but only for _polite_ little girls who say please and thank you,” she said sternly, lifting a small, gently worn doll from within the confines of her bag and shaking it gently. Rebecca’s eyes popped and she immediately stilled, hands fisting the dirty pinafore atop her over-sized blue dress.

“Auntie can I pwease has my pwesent?” she inquired with careful effort, and Nami struggled to keep a straight face.

“That’s better,” she said approvingly as she extended the doll towards her. It was snatched with excited hands, held briefly at arm’s length for a quick examination before being clutched tightly to her chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squealed excitedly as she jumped up and down, and Nami finally allowed her grin free.

“You’re very welcome. Why don’t you go play with your new dolly in your play corner while Grandpa Genzo and I talk, hm? I’ll make us lunch, too.”

“Okay!” she answered excitedly, before running to a corner of the living room where a stack of wooden blocks and worn children’s books lay in a heap. Nami let out an affectionate sigh before standing and turning to Genzo, who looked ready to fall asleep.

“I take it Nojiko’s resting?” she inquired over Rebecca’s excitable burbling.

Eyelids drooping, Genzo nodded, letting out a weary breath.

“Rebecca insisted on playing tag in the grove this morning. Drove Chabo absolutely nuts,” he chuckled, “Really wore me out, too.”

Nami nodded with understanding. Rebecca was… quite energetic at times.

“Why don’t you take a nap. I’ll watch Rebecca and make us all lunch, and wake you when its ready.”

Gen’s eyes were already starting to close when he murmured appreciatively, “You’re a godsend, Nami.”

She chuckled, twirling on her heel and heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen was better stocked than she expected but less well stocked than she would have preferred. Eying the available ingredients in the pantry, she selected materials for a basic chicken noodle soup. Rebecca, thankfully, played quietly in her corner for the duration of the soup’s cook time, and when she finally wandered into the kitchen having exhausted the novelty of her new doll, Nami was ready to set the table.

“Take these and put one in front of each chair,” she instructed, handing the girl four rolled up napkins. She nodded seriously, toddling off to the table and struggling to reach up to its surface, dutifully placing a napkin at each setting. Nami finished the rest, strapping the girl into her third-hand high chair with a selection of peeled tangerine slices as she went to wake Genzo. But as she passed the hall, she caught sight of Nojiko stumbling out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Spotting Nami, she grinned broadly, affect immediately cheering.

“I thought I heard your voice,” she said affectionately, crossing the distance to give her adopted sister a hug. Nami held her tightly in return, noting with some displeasure the boniness of her shoulders.

“I made lunch. Table is already set, why don’t you go sit down? I’m just going to wake Gen from his nap.”

Palpable relief flashed briefly in her eyes and she nodded. As Nojiko headed for the kitchen Nami headed for the living room, finding Gen lying exactly where she’d left him, head resting at an odd angle against the back of the sofa with his mouth hanging open, softly snoring. She repressed a snort, gently kicking his shoe with the toe of her boot.

“Lunch is ready, Gen. Up-and-at-em.”

He snorted and jerked, sitting up blearily and bringing a hand to rub his eyes.

“Lunch?” he inquired hoarsely, and she nodded.

“Come get it while it’s hot.”

He followed her into the kitchen, the two of them sitting at their respective place settings as the older man insisted upon saying Grace for the occasion—to which Nojiko and Nami grudgingly complied. It was difficult to say no to the closest thing they had to a father when it mattered so much to him and was such a trifling matter to them—especially when they all three saw each other so rarely.

The meal was a warm and peaceful affair, with Rebecca making a proper mess and Genzo being rewarded with a tangerine to the face (an event which left both Nami and Rebecca in a fit of giggles). However, soon the skies began to dim, and Genzo was due to depart for his rounds about the village. Nojiko lifted Rebecca from her chair, excusing herself to put the girl down for her afternoon nap, and Nami saw the old policeman to the door.

“It was good to see you, Nami,” he said as he pulled on his coat, the cooling outside air seeping in as he tugged on the door. “Don’t work yourself too hard, you hear?” Nami smiled as she pulled him in for a hug, tugging the blanket from the couch around her arms more tightly in the chill.

“I could say the same to you. And hey—” she interrupted, sticking her head out the door to glance up at the sky, “Bring an umbrella with you tonight. It should start raining a little after sundown.”

Genzo simply shook his head, smiling, as he donned his cap.

“It’s creepy how you do that, you know.”

Nami rolled her eyes but couldn’t help her smile. “You’ll thank me later, like you always do. Have a good night, Gen. And thanks for looking after Nojiko and Rebecca for me.”

“Anything for you girls,” he replied warmly, tipping his hat before heading out the door.

Sliding the deadbolt into place, Nami returned to the kitchen to gather their plates, replacing the blanket around her shoulders with an apron before starting on the dishes. She was in the middle of scrubbing some dried on tangerine flesh from Rebecca’s plate when Nojiko returned, taking a seat at the table with a tired sigh.

“I see you’ve been spoiling your niece again. She took her new dolly with her to sleep,” she commented with amusement.

Nami let out a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t be a good auntie if I didn’t.”

Nojiko smiled as Nami set the now sparkling plate onto the rack, drying her hands before turning back to the table where her bag hung from the corner of her chair. She reached for it, taking a seat and digging through the contents. Pulling out a fat stack of bills and the bottle of vitamin powder. She slid both across the table.

“I stopped off at Nako’s on my way up and paid off your outstanding balance. He told me to bring you this,” she said gesturing to the bottle. “It’s a vitamin powder; take one scoop full every day in a meal or drink.”

Nojiko eyed the items a moment before pulling both towards her.

“Lunch, money, and errands? I take it back, you’re not just spoiling Rebecca you’re spoiling me too.”

“Nonsense,” Nami scoffed, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair. “It’s hardly spoiling you if it only puts food on the table.”

Nojiko flipped through the stack quietly before pocketing it, offering her a wry smile. It had been only in the past year Nami had managed to get Nojiko to take the money without question or fuss.

A comfortable silence lapsed between them before Nojiko spoke again. “Will you be spending the night? Rebecca would love to spend more time with you if you’re able.”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Never,” Nojiko insisted with a smile, making to stand. “I’ll go get your bed ready.”

Nami stood quickly, gesturing firmly for Nojiko to sit. “Ah, ah—I’ve got it. You relax, I’ll go turn down the sheets.”

Nojiko looked like she might object a moment, but then suddenly swayed gently on her feet and sat back down.

“If you insist, I suppose,” she acquiesced.

“Always,” Nami said with a wink, turning and heading down the short hall.

Their old room was largely as she’d left it so many years ago—spartan and unadorned, the sheets stacked and folded neatly in the scuffed wooden dresser. She grabbed them and brought them to the bare mattress, but there she stilled, setting them at the foot of the bed before slowly sitting down next to them with a sigh. Finally, briefly, she let the smile she’d kept in place all afternoon fall. She leaned back on her hands, staring up at the cracked and peeling paint of the ceiling before closing her eyes wearily. Nojiko and Rebecca needed so much more than they had.

Three more days. Three more days, then she’d rob that ball blind. She set her shoulders before opening her eyes and standing to make the bed.

For Nojiko. Nojiko and Rebecca.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple quick points of clarification: The shipwreck occurs on the northern, exterior coast of Flevance, north of the Castle--as opposed to the interior waters to the south. I also set the characters 3 years beyond their canon ages (which I hinted briefly at with Chopper's birthday, since he's 17 post time-skip, not 20). So in this story Nami is 23, Law is 29, Robin is 33, Franky is 39, etc.
> 
> With this chapter ends the main chunk of set up and back story. It'll be on to the ball in the next chapter! I want to take some time to flesh out those scenes which will take up probably 2-3 chapters and be a bit longer and more involved, so with this also probably ends the (near) daily updates. I also resume work next week so... we'll see how updates go going forward. If I can manage to stick to my goal with this fic, chapters will hopefully remain shorter and be published more frequent than is the case with my other fics. So maybe every few weeks (ish)?
> 
> Now that there have been a few chapters to set up her character, I'd love to know what you guys think about Nami in this story. I drew a lot of inspiration for her characterization in this fic from the early One Piece chapters where she's a lot more independent and self-sufficient, taking on a lot more responsibilities quietly on her own.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, and I'll see you all again at the footnote of chapter 5!


	5. Grandeur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think from here on out I will be aiming for weekly publication on Wednesdays. There may be some variation on that and delays as we get into 2020, I'm not sure what my schedule will look like next year; but weekly Wednesday updates are my goal.

The carriage trundled smoothly through the thin layer of snow coating the road, lights from the distant castle twinkling in the falling darkness. She was rather quickly nearing, her carriage one of many in a long line of others far finer than her own. With trembling fingers she surreptitiously smoothed the fabric of her pale blue gown as she stared out the window. It was almost show time, and for the first time in years she felt the grip of pre-performance anxiety.

She stared down at the small lump in her lap that was her gloved hands resting beneath her ankle-length fur-trimmed cloak. Her brow furrowed as she focused on her breathing. In—out; in—out. She could do this. She had prepared tirelessly for weeks: memorizing the castle’s first floor layout late into the night with Robin at their small kitchen table; practicing the finer points of the waltz with Sanji on the cleared tavern floor.

Closing her eyes, she reviewed her character and back story once more in her mind, reciting lines like a mantra.

She was Bellemére Devries—niece to Dorland Devries, a prominent merchant in the capitol. She was visiting from Goa for the winter—for she had never seen a Flevance winter before and was eager for the experience—when the Lord’s invitation arrived unexpectedly by messenger. Her Uncle and Aunt fell ill just before the ball, but not wishing to deprive her the exceedingly rare opportunity to see Castle Trafalgar in the snow, encouraged her to attend despite their absence. She was a sweet and demure young woman of 20—a tad naive, but eager to see new things and engage in new experiences.

Opening her eyes, she smoothed out her features and allowed herself to slip into character.

She could do this.

All too soon the carriage was pulling up to the gate house, the muffled sound of scuffling feet on snow dusted earth prompting her to turn her attention to the window. A young man with half-moon glasses and messy orange hair sticking out awkwardly from beneath a bowler hat stood beside the carriage door in a crisp wool coat, eying her expectantly.

“Invitation?” he queried automatically, steam puffing from his lips.

Wordlessly she extended her silk gloved hand through the close of her cloak, offering him the envelope through the window. He took it and lifted the invitation from its confines before raising his gaze to eye the interior of the carriage.

“And the rest of your party?”

She smiled softly, willing her heart to slow.

“Fallen ill, I’m afraid,” she said sadly. The man nodded, returning her envelope through the window.

“Welcome to Castle Trafalgar, Miss Devrie. Please enjoy the festivities.”

She nodded as the driver’s reins snapped loudly in the cold, opting to leave the curtain open as the carriage continued on up to the circular drive. That was the first hurdle successfully crossed.

Castle Trafalgar was large and imposing against the fresh dusting of snow which surrounded it. Made of dark stone, four circular turrets marked each corner of the structure, rising four stories above the ground. A line of servants stood at the foot of a short flight of stairs leading up to the castle—a large set of of tall, intricately carved and polished wooden double doors serving as its entrance.

As her carriage pulled up to the front of the castle, she steeled her nerves. Time to put on the performance of a lifetime. She took a breath, slowly releasing it as a servant approached the side of the carriage, pulling the door open with a click and standing rigidly beside it to allow her debarkation.

Putting on an expression of wide-eyed excitement, she hugged her cloak around her shoulders, grabbing her fan and purse from her lap and lifting herself from the cushioned seat, nimbly stepping down from the coach with the aid of a proffered hand from the servant. Her feet hit the cold stone with a muffled click.

She had to suppress her instinct to thank the man—there could be no thank-you’s tonight, at least not to people like him; not if she were to pass as a high class lady. Instead she kept her eyes forward, daintily lifting her skirts as she followed the flow of people into the brightly lit castle where the music of a string orchestra drifted through the open doors.

Ascending the wide stone stairway, she could feel warmth radiating from the interior as she neared the doorway, music and laughter growing louder upon her approach. Stepping over the threshold, she couldn’t help the way her eyes widened in genuine amazement as she took in the magnificent sight of the foyer.

Meticulously crafted wood-paneled walls rose two stories high, a sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling like a work of art. A large, semi-circular staircase rose in grand fashion before her at the opposite end of the large room, burgundy rug running up its length and polished wooden bannister gleaming in the light. A short staircase descended beneath it, leading to a modestly sized parlor with a roaring fireplace at its far end.

Dozens of finely dressed men and women in coats and cloaks and hats milled about the foyer, quite a bit more finely dressed than she. While her bodice was quite lovely—elaborately beaded with small, clear crystal beads in swirling patterns atop pale blue silk, her skirt was plain—pleated and simple with relatively little adornment. She wore simple white silk gloves which came to rest just above her elbows, and had opted to keep her hair simple as well: styling it in a partial updo—hair braided into a bun at the back of her head, with a small selection of tight ringlets falling from it to her shoulders.

Many of the other women present were drowning in flower motifs and lace and bows, with flowers and diamond-studded pins adorning their hair. It was clear that this would be the social outing of the year if not the decade, and most women, it seemed, had dressed accordingly. But the relative modesty of her ensemble suited her purposes just fine. She wanted to fit in with the crowd—which she did, but also to remain as unremarkable—and unremarked upon—as possible.

Before she could fully gather her bearings, still oggling the polished marble floor and magnificent staircase, she was being approached by a finely dressed servant who offered her a polite bow.

“May I take your cloak or purse, madam?”

Nami blinked, shaking off the glittering trance and forcing her attention to the man. Turning, she offered him a soft smile.

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

With cold fingers she pulled back her hood, careful not to disturb her hair which she had spent many tedious hours styling, and untied the large bow at her chest allowing the man to gently pull the cloak from her shoulders. He then slung it neatly over his arm.

“And your name, Miss?”

“Bellemére—Bellemére Devrie.”

“Very good, Miss Devrie. Your items will be available from the coat check when you are ready for them, simply provide your name to one of the staff and they shall be fetched for you. Please enjoy the party.”

He gestured briefly to the far left side of the room—towards a set of open double-doors, inside of which lay row after row of racks filled with coats, hats, purses, and cloaks. A string of attendants stood before it, and Nami watched as the man turned for the room with purposeful strides.

The man failed to indicate where she should go, but her rigorous study of the layout and the steady flow of guests down the center stairway was clear enough suggestion; so she followed, allowing herself to hide within the crowd as she descended into a sparsely furnished parlor, then turned left and up a short flight of stairs into the ballroom foyer, beneath another set of intricate semi-circular stairs, and through yet another set of large double doors into the ballroom.

Her feet traded rich burgundy rugs for smooth parquet and once more she found her feet slowing to a stop, eyes growing large at the sight which greeted her. She knew the Trafalgars were wealthy—all the Lords of every Province were wealthy; but her thefts in the well-to-do districts of the capitol had not prepared her for such lavish grandiosity.

The ceiling rose two stories high, an intricate mural painted upon an inlaid ceiling. Large marble pillars supported a narrow second floor balcony which edged the ballroom, elegant wrought-iron railing topped by a polished wooden railing. Ten foot tall floor-to-ceiling windows faced the front of the castle on the left side of the ballroom, draped in fine sheer curtains with large arrangements of poinsettias and ivy sitting upon small circular end tables between them. The parquet was smoothly lacquered, its geometric pattern intricate and grand. Delicate crystal chandeliers as large as her bedroom in Robin’s apartment hung at intervals from the ceiling, the flames of tall taper candles flickering against the crystal causing it to sparkle and glitter like diamond.

In the corner to her left, upon a raised wooden dais sat a small string orchestra, elegant music echoing through the massive room as a handful of enthusiastic couples waltzed through the center of the dance floor. A selection of velvet benches and chairs were arrayed in the opposite corner to the musicians on her right, and tables draped in neatly starched white table cloths with elegant poinsettia centerpieces were surrounded by carved high-back wooden chairs, situated in clusters at the far end of the room where two doors opened out onto a balcony.

So this was the kind of wealth power possessed.

She was pulled from her trance by a gentle bump to her shoulder, a young man with a lady on his arm pausing in his stride to turn to her.

“My sincerest apologies, Miss! Did I hurt you?” he inquired with utmost concern, the young lady stopping and turning to her with a gentle smile.

“Ah—no, I’m quite alright,” she recovered quickly, gently shaking her head as she turned to the man and offered a smile. The girl, it seemed, had taken note of Nami’s wide-eyed wondering gaze as she looked to her with a knowing smile and elegant nod of the head.

“It is quite grand, isn’t it? I have always wondered what Castle Trafalgar looked like—and now we have our chance to see!”

“Quite,” Nami agreed, the sentiment genuine.

“I’m Jacqueline, by the way—Jacqueline Daine; and this is my brother Phillip,” she introduced.

The young man reached for her hand, gently lifting it to his face and allowing his lips to linger on her knuckles longer than she knew to be strictly appropriate.

“Charmed to make your acquaintance,” Philip offered with a suave smile. Nami smiled demurely, anxiously waiting for him to release her.

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance as well,” she offered, carefully avoiding giving her name. The less anyone knew about her—false backstory or no, the better. If either of them were bothered by her lack of return they did not show it.

As Phillip released her hand, Jacqueline leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially.

“I am absolutely dying to meet Lord Trafalgar—so few people have ever seen him outside the castle; certainly not since all that fuss 8 years ago with the succession. Rumor has it he is quite handsome!” she shared enthusiastically, “Though… if that is true, I cannot fathom why he is still unmarried.”

“Is he?” Nami inquired with feigned surprise, eyes glancing about subtly, seeking an excuse to depart their company.

“Oh, yes—it’s grown into quite the scandal of late. He turns thirty this spring; can you imagine—thirty and unmarried! How does he expect to carry on his line?”

Though Phillip had seemed for all the world utterly disinterested in his sister’s gossip, this comment pulled him into the conversation.

“Well I, for one, would be quite alright with Lord Trafalgar remaining unmarried and allowing the custodianship of Flevance to transfer to another noble family—ours, for instance,” he added with a touch of humor and a wink in her direction. Jacqueline gently swatted him.

“Hush, Phillip! Don’t let anyone hear you saying such things!” she chastised, spreading the blades of her fan and airing herself lightly as a flush rose to her cheeks.

“Besides,” she commented smoothly, “There is still Lady Lami. It’s always possible he may choose to name her his successor, and we all know how many suitors have thrown themselves at her feet. A husband and children are certainly in her future.”

The ballroom had filled up during her impromptu conversation with Jacqueline and Phillip, and a convenient lull had suddenly appeared in the conversation. While she found the rumors surrounding the Trafalgars of potential aid to her plans tonight, she was not eager to make friends and had other more important things to attend to.

“It was a delight to meet and speak with you both, but I’m afraid I must excuse myself,” she said suddenly, offering them both a demure smile and a curtsy.

Jacqueline looked a bit put out but recovered quickly, Phillip taking her hand once more, bowing.

“It was a delight to meet you. When you are ready for your first dance, I would be quite honored to be your partner,” he commented smoothly, and Nami forced a light laugh from her lips to appear appropriately charmed. Jacqueline simply giggled.

She turned and made her way slowly back the way she had come, through the double doors of the ballroom—but instead of proceeding straight into the parlor she turned and made her way up the stairs to the second floor balcony.

Though occupancy of the ballroom had already grown quite a bit, guests were still arriving and butlers had only just started to move about the floor balancing trays laden with champagne flutes. She had, by her estimate, about a half hour before all the guests had comfortably settled in the ballroom, and another hour before the crowd had grown properly inebriated. That gave her an hour or two to complete phase one of her plan.

Every thief knew never to pickpocket or burgle an alert or wary target; and alert and wary was what these people would be until the ball was in full swing. And once the champagne began to flow and guests were on their second and third drinks, their guard would become significantly lowered; that was when she would begin pocketing goods. But before she could do that, she needed to case her targets first: to familiarize herself with the guests, the stationing of butlers and servants—assess who was flaunting their wealth the most and would make the best marks, and remain as invisible as possible while doing so.

And the relatively empty balcony would serve as an excellent vantage from which to begin.

Slowly, quietly, she walked the circumference of the ballroom, eyes trained on the milling crowd as the room filled to capacity with ladies in voluminous gowns and men in sleek black suits. She could tell even from this distance that almost any gentleman would make an excellent mark. So distracted were they already by the low necklines and alluring lift of the ladies’ bodices, it would be criminally easy to swipe every valuable on their person after a drink or two.

Her eyes darted to the tables at the far end of the room, several of which had a purse or two left behind as women were lead out onto the dance floor. She smiled. The abandoned purses were also on her list.

Satisfied with her initial assessment, as her circuit of the balcony came to an end she descended the steps once more and made for the ballroom floor. Time to analyze her marks up close.

She made her way slowly, methodically, through the finely dressed crowd, eyes darting over each woman’s jewelry, listening carefully to snippets of conversation as she went in the hope it would hint at the various guests’ level of attentiveness.

In a way, it did; for coming from the lips of every lady she passed was constant, endless gossip. It seemed Jacqueline wasn’t the only woman curious about and eager to meet the mysterious Lord Trafalgar.

There was no end of speculation as to the nature of his solitude here at the castle. Some thought him simply inanely private, while others suspected him of illicit activities. There was speculation as to why he was still unmarried when all the rumors suggested he was dashingly handsome. Some claimed he was cruel, others claimed he was uninterested in women—which strangely seemed to excite the ladies further, and yet still others believed he simply did not intend to father children—instead passing succession on to his sister. By the time she made one full loop around the floor she was dizzy with speculation. But she had learned one thing: none of these women would see any of her thefts coming.

Feet beginning to ache in her formal boots, she decided on a brief break, moving towards the long wall and taking a comfortable seat atop a plush velvet bench, spreading her fan to air herself gently as she pretended to watch the dancers, instead tuning her ear to the conversation flowing around. One particular group of young ladies walking by were in the middle of an animated conversation when they stopped near her, huddled together a short distance away and perfectly within earshot.

“I know father would never approve, what with his reputation, but… I intend to win his heart, tonight,” one young woman stated with boastful certainty. The girls around her giggled.

“Oh, how exciting! My cousin, the future Lady of the Province!”

“Have you met him yet?” another asked enthusiastically. The boastful girl frowned.

“No—I haven’t seen him or Lady Lami about,” she said sadly. The other girls looked put-out as well.

“Do you know what he looks like? No one I know has ever met him before.”

“No—I was simply looking for a man wearing a sash in the Lord’s colors.”

Another girl, one who had been quiet throughout much of this exchange, finally spoke up, voice soft. “Do you think… do you think there is any truth to the rumors? About why he is unmarried?”

The boastful girl scoffed. “Of course not! The Lord remains unmarried because he chooses, and no other reason.”

“But… what about the duel? Father says he cut—”

“Uncle wants the custodianship, so of course he believes the rumors,” the boastful girl interrupted with certainty. “But we all know that will never happen—he is fourth in line and simply bitter about the fact.”

The soft-spoken girl sighed quietly, sounding thoroughly defeated. “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.

“Of course I’m right,” the boastful girl said gleefully. “I will be the future lady of the province, after all…”

Nami sighed quietly. Gossip, gossip, and more gossip! She had heard quite enough rumors by now—they were starting to repeat themselves. Ignoring her tired feet, she rose from her seat, making to continue on with her scouting from the other side of the room. However as the music from the last set wound to a close, another song did not follow; and by the time she was halfway across the floor she heard a tinkling sound coming from the balcony, and the sudden hush of voices throughout the room. Glancing around she noticed everyone looking up and followed their gazes. As she caught sight of what had everyone’s attention she came to a sudden standstill.

Two people stood at the rounded extrusion from the second floor balcony at the mouth of the staircase: a lovely young woman with light brown hair dressed in an elegant lavender gown who looked to be around Nami’s age; and a tall, handsome man with smoothly combed raven hair and neat sideburns who looked to be about, well, twenty nine. But it was not their striking features nor sharp golden eyes which caught her attention first—no; it was the gold sashes with black trim, and the snowflake shaped pin attached to their shoulders and the snow leopard pendant hanging from their hips.

It was the Lord and Lady Trafalgar—in the flesh.

The Lady offered the crowd a dazzling smile, gently tapping a knife against her champagne flute once more. The lord, however, looked utterly impassive, hands clasped behind his suit jacket. As the crowd began to hush and turn their attention to him, however, his posture suddenly shifted. The cold formality melted away, and in its place was a stern yet friendly authority, speaking in a deep, soothing voice over the crowd.

“Thank you all for making your way through the snow to visit our humble home,” he began with just a hint of a smile. “I hope you are enjoying yourselves. I won’t take up too much of your time. As this gala was my sister’s doing, I shall allow her to formally welcome you to tonight’s festivities.”

He took a small step back then, allowing attention to fall upon the charming, fairer-haired young woman. She lowered her champaign flute, smile wide and glittering like the diamonds which encircled her neck.

“Thank you, Law,” she said fondly before turning to the crowd, “And thank you all for coming! I know we Trafalgars tend to keep to ourselves—and yes, we are aware of the rumors,” she teased with humor, offering the crowd a subtle wink which elicited amused laughter from the guests, “But I assure you that our privacy is merely a matter of circumstance and distance—especially in the winter months when we get snowed in here at the castle.”

With all eyes on the charming Lady of the house, few seemed to notice as Nami did the way in which the Lord’s eyes scanned the crowd with a searching, scrutinizing gaze. Her brow furrowed as she watched him. It was as though he was… looking for something, or suspicious of the crowd as a whole. Odd, though she supposed there was quite a bit of mystery surrounding him if the gossip she had overheard tonight was any indication.

No sooner had her thoughts begun to circle him than his eyes stilled in their sweep, cutting over the crowd to fall directly upon her. For a moment their gazes locked—sharp, piercing golden eyes boring into her own. She felt panic rise within her, her cheeks heating under his scrutiny. Flipping open her fan she quickly rose it to her face, fanning herself as casually as possible while quickly shifting her eyes back to the Lady and hoping the fan would cover at least some of her features. She could feel the burn of his gaze still upon her, but she forced her eyes to remain focused on the Lady. With any luck, he would assume her to be simply another of his admirers, caught starry-eyed gazing.

After several tense moments, she felt the Lord’s eyes leave her, and she let out a relieved breath. Lady Lami was still speaking, and by the time Nami could shift her faculties back to the smiling woman she was finishing her speech.

“It has been far too long since we have had the opportunity to gather and celebrate in the company of Flevance’s most esteemed families; and so in the spirit of maintaining the ties between our houses which have long made this Province great, I decided we were quite overdue a winter gala. So please, enjoy yourselves! Eat, drink, dance, and be merry!”

With a wave of her hand in the direction of the orchestra the music started up again, and polite clapping began to spread throughout the crowd. The Lady offered one more dazzling smile, the Lord returning to her side and offering a charming yet subtly devilish smirk. Beside her, Nami heard several young women swoon.

Never before had she wanted to roll her eyes so badly.

As the Lord and Lady turned for the stairs behind them, young women and young men unsubtly rushed towards the entrance of the ballroom, where the pair would shortly be making their entrance. Nami, however, turned in the opposite direction, heading for the outdoor balcony at the far end of the room. She was loath to stand out in the cold, but the Lord’s eyes on her had unnerved her. Though it was unlikely he knew she was not supposed to be in attendance—especially from such a distance, it nonetheless struck her as wise to spend some time outside of his view until he became so overwhelmed by the mob of enamored young women he forgot her entirely.

As she approached the two sets of double doors, a servant standing in between them reached for a stack of folded knit blankets, offering one to her.

“Would you care for a blanket, madam?”

Nami felt relief flood through her as she accepted the proffered garment and slung it diagonally over her shoulders, wrapping it tightly about her and crossing her arms against her torso. Then, she stepped out into the cold night air, missing the brief but thoughtful glance thrown her way by the Lord from across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reference for Nami's ball gown.](https://waterchestnut123.tumblr.com/post/189474812404/inspiration-namis-ball-gown-namis-ball-gown)


	6. Filling Pockets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah, early update~!  
> I had picked Wednesday as the day to do updates because I usually don't work on Wednesdays, but my schedule may be changing this week so I figured I'd post now since it was done (I never seem to manage updating fics on work days). Barring any further schedule changes, I'll be back to Wednesday updates next week.

It was when she could take no more of the cold—cheeks thoroughly numbed and gloved fingers stiff, that she deemed it safe to return to the warm interior of the ballroom. When she crossed the threshold back into the noisy hall, regretfully leaving her warm blanket behind with the butler, the music was in full swing and the ballroom quite boisterous.

Though she was still chilled and not presently keen on moving air, she nonetheless flipped open her fan and began gently fanning herself to hide the lower portion of her face as she scanned the ballroom for the two people she most wished to avoid: the Lord and Lady. Several dozen couples waltzed elegantly across the dance floor to a lively tune and she spotted Lady Lami among them, smiling graciously as she was twirled by a red-faced gentleman at least twice her age. The woman she had met earlier in the company of her brother—Jacqueline Daine, was also dancing, being pulled along by a short but cheerful looking young man. Her eyes lingered several moments longer, but try though she might, she could not find the Lord among them.

She began walking along the periphery of the crowd, eyes scanning the rest of the room—those not currently dancing. The tables were half-filled with seated couples and groups, and many milled about the edges of the dance floor, watching or talking to one another; that was where she spotted him. He stood in conversation with a half dozen other gentleman near the front-facing windows, glasses of champagne in every hand, clearly quite occupied by the discussion.

Judging by the amount of time which had passed, the still-growing crowd of dancers, and the scant few empty glasses littering the tables, she guessed most were still on their first glass of champagne or just starting their second; she therefore still had another half hour at least before it would be safe to begin hitting her marks. She just needed to kill a little more time.

Turning for the interior wall, she slowly navigated the crowds opposite the side of the room the Lord was engaged in conversation on, carefully avoiding any glances his way. When she made it to the opposite side of the ballroom, she quietly snuck out through the double doors and into the parlor, making a beeline for the crackling fire at the end of the room by which to warm herself.

The Parlor was, thankfully, largely deserted, save for the odd canoodling couple or servant passing through. It would be a perfect place to wait out the time. She took up residence upon a love seat, half-hidden behind a railing and a potted plant and near the fire, closing her eyes as the warm air graced her cold cheeks. She amused herself listening to the conversation which passed through the room, keeping an ear tuned for slurred words and overloud voices—telltale signs the guests had begun to overindulge. She was not left waiting long.

While the women may have seemed quite taken with the Lord, the men, it appeared, were of a very different mind.

“The _nerve_!”

The exclamation was accompanied by rapid footsteps as a man came barreling through the ballroom doors, another hot on his heels. She heard him pacing on the rug—muffled though the sound was, anger clear in the heaviness of his footsteps and mild inebriation evident in the volume of his voice.

“—in front of the head of the trade commission no less! Insinuating I, of all people, am incompetent. It is _he_ who is incompetent—running Flevance into the damn ground! Profits have been on a steady decline because of _his_ tariffs—not through any fault of mine! How does he expect a shipping company to survive _fifteen_ _percent_?! The nerve of that _BASTARD_ —!”

“Keep your voice down,” another man—older by the sound of his gruff voice, whispered, urgently but firmly. “You would do well to remember you are _his_ guest, in _his_ home. _Control yourself_.”

“Father, surely you—”

“ _Control yourself, Riven_ ,” the older man reiterated, tone steely and voice rising ever so slightly.

She heard a sudden thud—presumably a boot hitting the wall, before a heavy release of breath. Curiosity growing, she subtly turned her head, side-eyeing the two men who stood near the closed door opposite the open ballroom through a gap in the railing. One was a young man of perhaps thirty, head lowered with two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Sandy blonde hair was neatly slicked back, and the coattails of his crisp black suit still fluttered with the momentum of his kick. Beside him stood an older man with similar features, gray beginning to overtake his blonde hair at the temples, expression guarded.

When the young man spoke again, his voice was controlled—but only just.

“I think I will step outside for some air. I shall return to the table shortly, Father.”

The older man grunted. “See that you do. And son—you held yourself well. Lord Trafalgar can be a… frustrating man.”

Another sigh.

“Thank you, Father.”

She turned back to the fire, gazing into the crackling flames. The shuffle of footsteps told her the men had parted, and she found herself biting her lip in thought.

Lord Trafalgar was proving more and more interesting. Irresistible to the ladies despite his apparent reputation (the nature of which she could only assume to be some shade of dark if Brook’s warning and the rumors she’d overheard were anything to go by), and antagonistic to the men. Apparently notoriously reclusive—having rarely been seen by the general public these past eight years—and with no end of rumor and gossip, both good and bad, surrounding him and his rule. And perhaps most unusual—nearly thirty and still unmarried, with no apparent heir. She was certainly no Robin, who doubtless had a firmer grasp on Flevance’s political history; but even she could tell it was an odd combination of circumstances and opinions—and difficult to pick apart what held truth. Part of her was becoming entirely too curious to find out just who this mystery man was.

But a good thief never revealed herself to their target if she could help it—and Nami intended to abide that principle as much as possible. The mystery that was Lord Trafalgar would simply have to remain as such—a mystery.

A group of giggling, stumbling girls were next to enter into the parlor, clearly having had one too many flutes of champagne, and Nami deemed it to be just about the right time to start her rounds. She rose to stand, pulling out her fan once more as she slowly navigated her way down the small set of steps and around the corner into the ballroom, chatter and music growing louder as she stepped out onto the parquet.

She glanced idly around the room as she slowly moved further inside, searching for her first victim. She quickly spotted him attempting and failing to woo a young woman who quickly dismissed herself from his company. He was objectively unattractive despite his regal attire—a pointed face and awkward posture with a stutter to boot. Even from the balcony hours ago, as walked the perimeter of the ballroom doing her first assessment of the guests, she could tell he reeked both of money and an insecure need to be liked. He had been the first she’d painted with a target.

She walked in his direction though she avoided looking at him directly, lowering her fan to reveal a coy half-smile to no one in particular. His eyes immediately caught on her and, as she’d hoped, he headed her way. When he was within feet of her she elegantly stumbled, falling directly into his waiting arms.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! How clumsy of me,” she gushed, leaning into his embrace. Clever fingers dipped into his open jacket, nimbly extracting a leather billfold and platinum pocket watch, withdrawn items hidden between their two bodies. In seconds she tucked them neatly inside one of her many pockets and righted herself.

“Oh, m-my,” he stuttered, awkwardly smoothing his hair as he released her, though he did not step away. “Are you quite alr-right, Miss?”

“Oh, I am now, thank you!” she simpered, giving him a winning smile. He smiled in return, glancing unsubtly at the dance floor before opening his mouth to inquire; but she beat him to the punch.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m due to meet someone at my table.”

Then, with a sudden turn she sashayed away, leaving the man open mouthed and blinking behind her.

Over the next hour she hit eight more targets, each with varying twists to her approach. For one gentleman she tripped a young lady walking nearby, who spilled her drink all over his dress coat. Nami, being a kindly concerned bystander, immediately offered to take it from him and dab it dry with a napkin she just so happened to be holding as the blushing young woman tended to his vest. And, of course, when she returned it to him, it was missing a few notable items from the confines of its pockets.

Another man—quite drunk and overly handsy, she allowed to corner her in section of the ballroom populated by what she deemed to be “white knight” types. As he made his advance she neatly swiped his valuables before making a pathetic and very public attempt at nervous rejection—which lured in another unsuspecting victim who gallantly pulled the man from her person, apologizing to her as he escorted the drunk away. Between the two of them, she scored two gold pocket watches, an elaborate watch chain, a silver money clip—filled with bills, and an inlaid mother-of-pearl scarf pin. By the time her knight in shining armor had returned, she was long gone.

With the ball now at its peak and the dance floor filled with couples, she turned from the men to the women. Nimbly weaving her way through the crowd to the tables, she casually brushed up against them as she passed. Unattended purses littered the area, lying open on the edges of tables and hanging from the backs of chairs. She targeted those she could most easily and subtly access passing inconspicuously by, swiping money, jewelry, gold powder cases, diamond-studded barrettes and brooches, small silver hand mirrors, and dainty silver combs. In between purses, she grabbed gold napkin holders and intricate silver flatware from the table settings. A half hour later, as she once more put distance between her and her victims—a blanket wrapped around her shoulders on the chill, abandoned balcony, she couldn’t help the smile rising to her face at the weight the filched goods added to her gown. It was the most she had ever snatched at once.

And best of all—none seemed any the wiser. Ladies danced, carefree, on the ballroom floor. Gentleman flirted and drank—yet to notice their missing affects. And here she was, gown filled with stolen goods, unnoticed and overlooked.

She had never felt so powerful, nor so alive.

But there was one more target she planned to hit tonight—the cherry on top of this most delicious cake: the mysterious Lord Trafalgar himself.

According to the blueprints Franky had acquired for her, the Lord’s private study was also on the first floor, and a small inset into the wall strongly suggested, according to Franky, the presence of a hidden safe. Now that she had seen the incredible splendor of the castle, she could scarcely imagine what wealth lay hidden within. Though she already had more goods that were of a value greater than her last three jobs combined, with the possibilities locked away in the Lord’s private safe? She could, perhaps, at long last do it—she could save up enough to afford Nojiko’s surgery.

She could finally save her sister.

Behind her she heard the soft click of footsteps and glanced absently over her shoulder to see who had joined her out on the chill balcony. To her dismay she recognized the face of the man who strolled out into the night air, cheeks a faint but distinct pink. He glanced about casually, quickly spotting her, a smile broadening on his face as his trajectory turned in her direction.

“Ah, we meet again!”

It was Phillip Daine, but this time he was without the company of his sister.

She smiled, nodding, making clear moves for the ballroom.

“So we do,” she agreed demurely, “But I’m afraid I was just heading back inside—its become a bit too cold out here for me.”

He shook his head, approaching her and draping an arm over her shoulder, turning her around with startling strength and speed.

“Nonsense! It is too beautiful a night—just look how the snow glitters in the light! Allow me to keep you warm instead.”

Were she in any other situation she would have cuffed the man on the ears for his audacity; but she wasn’t, and instead she merely forced her smile to remain, allowing him to lead her to the balcony’s edge.

“Now… I don’t believe I got your name before,” he continued smoothly, arm holding her far closer than would have been strictly appropriate.

“My name is Bellemére,” she offered with some reluctance.

“Ah, what a lovely name for such a lovely face,” he crooned, attempting to lay on his idea of charm. He turned to look at her, raising his other hand to brush her cheek gently. She stiffened. This was going nowhere good.

“Thank you, that… is very kind.”

Attempting to put some space between them, she adjusted her makeshift shawl, side-stepping slightly in the process; but his hold was unyielding. Her smile faltered.

“You know,” he commented lightly, pulling her just a little closer as he turned to look down at her again, “I don’t believe we ever got a chance to share that dance you promised.”

She laughed softly, struggling harder to suppress her violent urges.

“I don’t believe I made any promises,” she responded playfully, making another subtle attempt to side-step him, to no avail.

“Ah, but the promise was in your eyes, Miss Bellemére,” he said softly.

He turned her to face him then, arm around her waist. She was loath to cause a scene or draw attention to herself, but subtlety with this man was getting her nowhere fast. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed gently but firmly, attempting a kindly, measured tone.

“A dance later would be lovely; Unfortunately I am expected, so I really must be getting back inside…”

His grip tightened.

“Ah, but where is your festive spirit! I haven’t seen you dance once, all night.”

Her forced smile was very near breaking. So. Philip was the type not to take no for an answer. That made this… immeasurably more difficult. If she was forceful, she risked drawing attention to herself. If she allowed him to have his way, she would likely never be rid of his company—not to mention the possibility of unwanted advances. Her heart rate began to quicken as she hurriedly debated how direct and aggressive to be in order to secure her escape—and whether she may have to cut her plans for the Lord’s study short, salvation came in a most unexpected form.

“Ah, Philip! There you are—your sister is looking for you!”

Philip turned, momentarily startled before smiling at their unexpected guest: none other than Lady Lami Trafalgar herself.

“Ah, My Lady! I’m afraid she will have to wait—I was just about to share a dance with the lovely Miss Bellemére.”

Lami smiled smoothly, glancing between the two. “I’m afraid it’s rather urgent—apparently she has lost her favorite brooch and is quite distressed. She asked for you straight away.”

Though her expression was friendly and her words were kind, there was a flintiness in her smiling eyes and a command beneath her honeyed tone. Philip paused a moment before finally releasing her and stepping away, giving Lami a short bow.

“Of course. Thank you, my Lady, for passing on the message.”

He turned to Nami, reaching for her hand and lifting it to his lips, eyes lingering meaningfully on hers. “I hope to see you again later, Miss Bellemére.”

Without waiting for a reply he turned and walked stiffly through the double doors into the ballroom. Nami let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I’m terribly sorry about that. Philip rather fancies himself more charming than he is—and his family’s place as second in the line for the succession tends to give him rather a large head.”

Nami glanced up to find the Lady approaching, hugging her own shawl around her shoulders as she eyed her with a friendly if teasing smile. Though grateful for the save—and impressed by the woman’s ability to wield soft power, Nami felt her fingers twitch. The Lady of the house was not one she wished to draw the eye of. She needed to think up an escape, and fast.

“Ah—thank you, My Lady,” Nami started with a smile, offering a small curtsy as her brain worked fervidly, eyes darting briefly to the door. The Lady was sharper than she gave her credit for, though, quickly noticing Nami’s subtle glance. Her eyes crinkled with unvoiced laughter.

“Don’t worry, I won’t keep you,” she said humorously. “I imagine you wish to get back to your family. Please don’t hesitate to let I or one of the staff know if you find yourself subject to any more… unwanted attention. I do hope you’ve otherwise enjoyed the ball thus far?”

“Yes, I have,” Nami replied honestly—though the reason why was, she imagined, quite different than the one Lami anticipated. “Thank you again, my Lady,” Nami continued, “I… _would_ rather like to head back inside.” An involuntary shiver followed her statement.

“Of course, of course! After you?” Lami turned, gesturing towards the ballroom entrance with a quirked brow. Nami strode quickly across the balcony, making for the open doors and gratefully stepping back into the warmth. She handed off her shawl to the waiting butler and Lami did the same, bidding her a friendly farewell as she gracefully walked back across the room.

Nami, for her part, needed a moment to catch her breath.

She hurried her way through the jostling crowd back to the entrance of the ballroom and up the stairs to the second floor balcony which was, she was grateful to find, deserted. With a breath, she allowed herself to lean against the bannister, absently eying the dancing crowd.

That was… an uncomfortably close encounter. It didn’t seem as though it would cause any disruption to her plans, as the interaction had been relatively brief and uneventful; but still, she berated herself for allowing such an incident to occur at all.

She stood quietly, listening to the graceful music echo through the ballroom, breathing deeply as she re-centered herself. She needed to focus, to turn her attention back to her final target—the Lord’s study. 

The night was nearing its end and her timing had to be just right; she needed to get in, take what she could, and get out in time to leave with the departing crowds. Barring the encounter with Phillip and Lady Lami, the night was going flawlessly, and she needed to ride that momentum through to her final theft and straight out the front door.

She waited, leaning against the bannister for several more minutes, going over her plan in her head again. First: a distraction to allow her to sneak away unnoticed; then, follow the winding halls to the Lord’s study—get in and out, and back into the parlor before anyone noticed she was missing. The only thing left, was to come up with an appropriate distraction. She had the rough outlines of several potential plans forming in her head, gaze roving the ballroom for inspiration. As her eyes fell upon the sandy haired man she had overheard in the parlor, a plan began to coalesce. Yes… that would work perfectly.

Slowly, casually, she headed back down the stairs out into the ballroom, eyes sweeping the crowd, searching for… there.

Not far from where she stood at the edge of the dance floor was the man who had complained about the lord earlier in the parlor—Riven, if her memory served. If his vocal complaints hadn’t already tipped her off, just by looking at him she could tell he was a proud man; and by the pink of his cheeks she could further assume he’d had quite a bit to drink—perhaps even to take the edge off his anger. She smiled to herself. It would take little provocation to achieve her desired result.

She lifted a glass of champagne from the tray of a nearby butler to look the part, taking a quick sip before stopping mid-step near him, allowing him in his uncoordinated state to accidentally bump into her, sloshing her drink.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss! Are you alright?” he questioned in alarm, stopping and turning to her with concern. However, as his eyes swept her figure, gaze lingering at the dip of her breasts between which her pendant necklace rested, his expression morphed into a boyish smile.

“No, no I’m quite alright, sir,” she said sweetly, offering a coquettish smile. His gaze sharpened on her as he took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“And who is the lovely lady I have the pleasure of meeting?”

She giggled girlishly, batting her lashes.

“My name is Bellemére. And you…” she squinted her eyes before nodding in faux recognition. “You must be Inkholm! I’ve heard so much about you!”

He released her hand, righting himself and glancing at her in confusion.

“Inkholm?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I was just speaking with Philip out on the balcony—Philip Daine? He told me all about you. He said your name was Inkholm Pentent? You work in shipping, correct?”

She continued to smile at him with an oblivious air, tilting her head endearingly for good measure. She watched as the gears turned slowly in his head, face beginning to redden from something other than his drink. He kept his smile though, as he cocked his head stiffly at her.

“No, actually, my name is Riven, Miss Bellemére. I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me—I have some business to attend.”

Then he turned, glancing about the room, making a beeline for where Phillip stood chatting up a giggling girl near the tables. She suppressed a grin.

She made her way once more for the entrance to the ballroom, taking her time meandering through the crowd. She was lingering in the doorway when she heard it—raised, angry voices coming from the far side of the room, and confused murmurs erupting around her as heads turned.

She took that as her cue. Turning, she headed casually into the parlor as curious ladies and gentleman hurried from the room to see what all the commotion was about, moving towards the closed door opposite the ballroom. Glancing around quickly—the room had indeed emptied of servants and guests alike—she pressed her ear against the door, closing her eyes to focus on any sounds coming from beyond. Nothing.

She pulled back, carefully reaching into one of the hidden pockets of her gown and pulling from its confines her full lock pick tool set arranged neatly inside a folded leather roll. She quickly unfurled it, eying the lock in front of her and expertly assessing it to be a pin tumbler. Selecting her tension wrench and hook pick, she inconspicuously lowered them to the lock, covering her activities with her skirt. It was more difficult and time consuming to do standing, but in less than a minute she felt the pins align and turned the wrench, the lock sliding out of place; and thats when she heard it: a startled scream followed by an angry shout echoing from within the ballroom, and an abrupt halt to the music. A fight had broken out.

She hastily pulled her tools out, shoving them into her pocket. With a twist of her wrist she pushed the door open, stepping inside and shutting it soundlessly behind her.

She was in.

She hurried down the long, empty hallway, dress swishing quietly as she walked. The guests were distracted and the clock was ticking—but she knew the twists and turns of this castle now like the back of her hand.

It would be less than a minute before she reached the Lord’s private study. Soon, all his treasures would be hers for the taking—and none would be any the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, we're getting into the final stretch of the ball! Mystery and suspense abound!
> 
> On a side note, I have a layout for the first floor of the castle sketched out. Right now it is a hopeless mess of pencil scribbles indecipherable to any but me, however I hope to ink out something clearer to share with you all next chapter since the layout will help you follow Nami's heist a little more easily (and help me in subsequent chapters keep these ridiculous details straight).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to leave a review with your thoughts!
> 
> Oh, and P.S.:  
> I know a lot of you already are, but if you haven't I highly recommend checking out and following AnubisLover's fic  
> [ "Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20451131/chapters/48522098) because it is *so good* and has become my bi-monthly indulgence. It is 100% LawNa goodness.


	7. Through The Front Door

The hall beyond the parlor was silent, all sound from the festivities in the ballroom largely blocked by the thick wooden double doors.

Glancing down the short hall, she found it just as sumptuous as the parlor had been. Elaborately detailed gas light sconces hung at intervals along the richly painted walls, each brightly lit and faintly flickering. A high ceiling rose above her, detailed molding set at the joint of wall and ceiling. The hallway only spanned perhaps a hundred or so feet before terminating at a set of large double doors, and she hurried toward them; she had a good deal of distance to cross, and it was best she did so quickly.

The doors at the hallway’s end were thankfully unlocked, and she pressed her ear to the seam between them, listening for any activity beyond; not that she expected anyone to be about in this section of the castle. According to the blueprints, this was the guest wing, and as far as she knew the Lord was not housing any guests. As such, there should be no need for servants to be about here, nor any likelihood of wandering nobles.

Besides, even without her distraction all of the castle staff should be well enough occupied by the affair ongoing in the ballroom. The upper classes never could seem to so much as wipe their nose without the aid of a servant.

Cracking one of the doors open, she peered cautiously out into the hallway beyond. Finding it empty, she stepped back and pulled the door open properly, stepping quickly and quietly through before shutting it behind her.

The hall beyond wasn’t exactly a hall so much as a long gallery, being much wider and more elaborately decorated than the hall she’d just departed. It stretched for hundreds of feet with plush burgundy rugs running its length. Upholstered armchairs and oil paintings in thick, carved frames lined the walls between guest room doors, with fine wooden tables pressed against the wall below each picture. Each was topped with various curios: elegant vases, sculptures, or the odd flower arrangement.

She hurried past quickly, paying little attention to the clear attempt to impress the castle’s guests (were it ever to have any), keeping her eyes on the next set of doors at the end of the hall.

Soon she reached it, adrenalin rising as she pressed her ear once more to the seam, listening. Her destination was just on the other side—she was almost there.

Hearing nothing beyond the wood, she experimentally jiggled the handle. It too was unlocked and she gently pushed the door open a crack, peering out between the small gap into the next hallway. She spied nothing, heard nothing, and after several moments deemed it empty as well. Gently, quietly, she pushed the door open.

This hallway stretched endlessly to her left, with tall windows all along the right-hand wall—and was entirely empty as well. She carefully opened the door, stepping across the threshold before shutting it quietly behind her, quickly glancing about before darting for the door immediately to her right. She suppressed a smile as she approached, lowering herself to examine the lock.

So far, this was proving to be easier than she’d imagined.

She pulled her roll of tools out of a pocket, selecting two before going to work. Unsurprisingly she supposed, this lock proved a bit trickier than the parlor door—more pins, a more complex pattern; but she’d dealt with worse, and soon enough the lock was giving way. Pulling her tools out of the keyhole, she tucked them back in her dress before reaching for the handle, glancing once more down the hallway before turning it and stepping inside.

She closed the door softly behind her, taking the added measure of re-locking it (never could be too careful), before turning to assess the room she’d broken into.

Though it was large and lavish like everything else in the castle, the Lord’s study had a much more lived-in, practical feel. It was every inch a work space, designed around productivity and utility rather than opulence or impressiveness. Housed in the northeastern corner of the castle, she stood in a square room which gave way to the circular space of the tower halfway through. A large, ornately carved wooden desk sat in the center of the circular portion, with two plush armchairs before it and full bookshelves filling the curving wall behind it, in between floor-to-ceiling windows.

The square portion of the room in which she stood appeared to serve as the formal sitting area, as the space was dominated by two armchairs and a love seat surrounding a low table, situated atop a patterned rug. To her right near the edge of the adjoining wall was another door—a coat closet, she and Franky had surmised from their study of the blueprints.

Further along the wall was a wide, narrow drink cabinet with a large potted plant beside it; and above it, a stylish, detailed map of the Flevance province. She eyed it with a considering gaze, making quick mental calculations. The safe _should_ be behind it.

She stepped away from the door, making a beeline for the drink cabinet. She leaned forward awkwardly, struggling with the width and volume of her dress, tightly grasping the edges of the picture frame as she lifted it from its hook with a grunt, pulling it carefully away from the wood paneled wall. She set it gently against the adjoining wall, but when she righted herself, she did not find what she had expected to find behind it; for where the safe should have been, there was instead simply more wooden paneling. Her brow furrowed, feeling along the wall for any seams or inconsistencies. Finding none, she frowned, frustration rising in her breast.

Dammit! Robbed of her grand finale—and biggest potential gain!

In irritation she smacked the wall with her palm, cursing; and was startled when instead of hitting a solid surface, she felt it give way. She glanced in confusion to the location her hand had hit, noticing the flat, square panel in the center of the molding had depressed into the wall. Slowly, she leaned forward, brow furrowed as she examined it. She reached out, pressing her hand against the depressed panel lightly, finding it to slide on some sort of rail.

She grinned. Clever, clever man! Hiding his hidden safe behind a false wall. She quickly slid the panel aside, tucking it neatly behind the rest of the wall to reveal the door of a small safe. Not waiting any time she leaned over the cabinet and pressed her ear against the metal, shutting her eyes to focus on the familiar click of tumblers as she began to listen for the combination. It took longer than she wanted; it was a well built safe, the mechanisms smoother and quieter—but she’d never met a safe she couldn’t crack. After several focused minutes she had the code solved, quickly spinning the dial to the correct numbers before the safe popped open with a satisfying thunk.

She eagerly pulled the door open—only to have her her expression fall in disappointment upon seeing its contents. She didn’t know what specifically she expected—jewels or gold or coins, maybe. What she found instead was… well, worthless; for inside was nothing more than a large pile of papers covered in cramped, hasty scrawl, a worn leather journal, a small wooden box, and an old photograph in a simple wooden frame. No gold, jewels, bills, or coins in sight.

Boy, what a roller coaster this room was turning out to be.

Deciding she may as well inspect all the safe’s contents just to be thorough, she reached for the photograph first. It was a portrait: a tall, dark-haired man who reminded her of the Lord and a lighter-haired woman that reminded her a good deal of the Lady, stood behind a large armchair shared by two children separated by a fluffy, sleeping puppy—a boy and a girl, each resembling their respective parent. Every person in the photograph was smiling brightly, except the young boy who wore a scowl. Despite her irritation at finding nothing of value, Nami couldn’t help her amused smile. The Lord and Lady in their younger years, she suspected; what an adorable, dreadful looking child he was.

She put the photo back, reaching next for the small wooden box. Popping it open quickly, she did a double take—eyes widening and blinking in disbelief as she registered its unexpected contents. Three rings: a simple white gold milgrain band, a daintier thin white gold band studded with diamonds, and an enormous, ornate sapphire ring. A wedding ring set, if she were to guess. An odd thing for a supposedly single man to keep in his personal safe, but who was she to judge.

She lifted it carefully, slowly, breath caught by the beauty of the piece. An enormous, flawless sapphire in an oval cut was surrounded by a double halo of surprisingly large, equally flawless, clear and sparkling diamonds. The stones were attached to a smooth, thin band, and in total circumference were very nearly as large as her knuckle. She blinked, cradling the ring in her palm, hardly able to believe her luck. She had never seen stones this big nor this flawless, and never had she seen jewelry so elegantly or masterfully crafted. And while she was no jeweler, she did know quality when she saw it; this alone would be worth at least half—if not more, of everything else she had filched in the ballroom.

A grin slowly overtook her features and she reached into the box for the matching diamond band; and though it wouldn’t fetch nearly the price, she took the plain men’s ring for good measure. Giddily, she slipped the rings into her deepest pocket.

“—not interested in playing grown-up to a couple of adult children!”

Nami froze at the angry shout which traveled, muffled, through the door. There was someone was out in the hallway.

Though it was hard to be sure, indistinct as the voice was, it was definitely male, and sounded suspiciously familiar. The man seemed to be speaking to someone else, clearly agitated, their voices growing gradually louder.

They were headed her way.

She panicked. Heart pounding and hands trembling, she clumsily shut the box and put it back, righting the rest of the safe’s contents before closing the door and spinning the dial. Fumbling in her efforts to slide the wooden panel back into place, she eventually managed, struggling to get her trembling under control as she reached for the painting, nearly dropping it in her rush to rehang it on the wall. The voices were terrifyingly near as she straightened the frame, anxiously glancing about around the room for somewhere—anywhere, to hide.

They could simply be passing through the hall; but if she were right (and she really hoped she wasn’t), it was the Lord she’d heard shouting, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to make a brief stop into his own study. And if he did, and found it unexpectedly occupied?

She didn’t want to think about what would happen next.

But where could she possibly hide?! Her skirt was enormous and wouldn’t exactly fit behind the furniture. Her eyes darted about frantically, desperately, finding absolutely nothing suitable. The love seat was too out in the open; the desk wouldn’t do, as it would probably be his first stop. Where else could she—

Her frantic gaze suddenly landed on the smaller door against the same wall as the hidden safe, suddenly recalling its existence. The coat closet! She dashed for it as quietly as possible, feeling her heart thunder and legs tremble as the voices grew more distinct, now just outside the hall door.

She wrenched the closet door open, hurrying inside and shutting it soundlessly behind her. There were only a few coats hanging, but the closet was wide, not deep, and she tucked herself into the nook against the wall beside the door, moving the coats to block her from view as much as possible. She had barely come to rest her head against the wall and take a breath when she heard the handle of the door to the study rattle then click open, voices moving inside as the door was closed behind them with a snap.

“—is taking care of it, and they will be escorted back to their carriages. Their dispute seemed to revolve around a woman named Bellemére. They didn’t provide a last name, and we were unable to find a Bellemére on the guest list; but we did receive quite a few +1 requests, so she may simply not have been invited by name.”

An irritated groan followed, and a familiar baritone spoke in response. “All this over a _woman_? _This_ is why I don’t waste my time with this society _bullshit_. Remind me again why I allowed this?”

Her heart skipped a beat, palms sweating where they held her dress away from the door. Her fears had been confirmed—it was the Lord; and he did _not_ sound happy.

“Lami can be… quite convincing,” came the second voice gently, “And it has been helpful in ruling out suspects.”

Her breathing stopped all together. Suspects? They were looking for someone? Were they looking for her?

A loud sigh came from beyond the door. “Yes, I suppose. Not as helpful as I’d like—the list is still over a page long.”

“Down from four,” the second voice added helpfully.

“Yes, yes…” the Lord replied irritably before falling silent. Then: “Lami should be done calming the guests by now. If he hasn’t already been, add Phillip to the shortlist. I’m going back out.”

She heard muffled footsteps before the second voice called out encouragingly, “Don’t forget to smile!”

Then the door opened and quickly shut with a loud, irritable thud. She did not move, having heard only one set of footsteps departing. Shuffling within the study soon followed, then the faint scrape of a wooden a drawer opening and closing. Silence briefly ensued, then more footsteps headed in her direction. She held her breath, and soon the hall door opened and shut a final time.

Then—blessed silence.

She did not move for a full three minutes; she counted, second by aching second, feeling her heart slow only as she rounded on minute two. The room had remained silent and undisturbed in all that time—no surprise returns to the study, thank goodness, and so she pulled away from the wall, silently turning the handle on the closet door as she cautiously peered out.

The study was, indeed, empty once more. She let out a ragged breath.

Clearly, they were looking for someone else, not her, if they’d already had a long list of suspects. Suspects for what, she didn’t know, and didn’t want to know; something was going on beneath the surface of this ball, and all she cared about was that it didn’t concern or involve her.

It did, however, make it abundantly clear she couldn’t waste any more time. She turned immediately for the hall door, steps light, pressing her ear against the door jamb and listening carefully. She could hear no sounds beyond and so pulled back, turning the lock on the door and reaching for the handle. She quietly pulled the door open, glancing out into the hall through the narrow gap between door and doorframe. She could see nothing, and hear nothing.

Time to move.

She slipped out, shutting the study door behind her before reaching into her dress for her tools. She took a measured breath, forcing her trembling fingers still before setting about re-locking the door behind her.

That was close—too close. She got what she came for; it was time to high tail it out of here, even if that meant leaving ahead of the rest of the guests. She hurried back through the doors into the guest room hallway, passing the many rows of paintings as quickly as she dared. At the end of the hall she took a right through the doors into the smaller hall, and soon found herself once more at the double doors leading into the parlor.

She briefly shut her eyes, taking another breath. She was almost there, and needed as much calm as she could muster before rejoining the guests if she were to put on a convincing act. Opening determined eyes, she pressed her ear to the seam, listening intently. She could hear nothing beyond the door that would suggest people occupied the parlor, though like the rest of the castle the wood of the doors was thick and it was be difficult to tell for certain. Turning the lock, she pulled the door open a hairs breadth, peering out. She could see no one in sight and what noise she could hear sounded as though it were coming from the ballroom.

Now was her chance.

She slipped back into the parlor, glancing about quickly before shutting the door quietly and arranging herself in front of the handles to disguise her work. She discreetly pulled out her tools again, setting about re-locking the doors. It was quicker work this time, having already done it once. Hearing the telltale thunk of the lock she tucked her tools back into her dress, gently jiggling the handle to ensure her job complete. Perfect.

“Can I help you, miss?”

She jumped, heart in her throat, hand on her chest, swiveling on her heel to see none other than the Lord standing behind her and eying her with a raised brow.

Where the hell had he come from?

She found herself staring up to meet his inscrutable gaze as she chanted soothing mantras in her head, scrambling to reign in her panic. He was a good deal taller in person than she’d realized viewing him from the balcony, towering over her nearly a full head in height. Though slender, even through his crisp evening suit she could see in his posture the suggestion of musculature and strength. She was distinctly reminded of a leopard, crouched and stalking its prey—and the way his golden eyes seemed to glow, cat-like and sharp in the dim light, did little to allay this impression.

As his gaze took in her features, his eyes sharpened on her with what she feared to be recognition; but his voice had been calm and polite—nothing of the clipped and angry tone she’d heard from him earlier in the study. She needed to calm down; he couldn’t know anything unless she gave it away.

“I—I apologize, you startled me,” she managed with a weak smile, trying and failing to force her heart to slow. “I seem to have gotten turned around. I was looking for the ladies room to powder my nose, but… it is clearly not through here,” she commented with what she hoped came across as humor, gently jiggling the handle for emphasis (and to, with any luck, allay any suspicion he may have as to her reason for standing so long in front of a locked door).

He eyed her a moment, expression unreadable, before it morphed into a polite smile. “You’ll find it in the ballroom,” he answered kindly, gesturing in the opposite direction.

“Ah, that—thank you,” she murmured, turning from the door and heading towards the ballroom with as much grace as her trembling legs would allow. He fell in step beside her, gloved hand coming to rest gently at her lower back—inches from the hidden pocket which held the rings she’d just stolen from his study.

Don’t think about it, Nami.

He led her across the parlor, through the ballroom foyer and under the archway into the ballroom proper. The music was once more playing and dancers occupied the floor; and though the guests were milling about as they had been before her timely distraction, an excitable murmuring carried over the hubbub—people no doubt eagerly discussing the scandalous fight she had instigated, and which the Lord and Lady had presumably brought to a succinct end.

As they stepped out onto the parquet his hand pulled away and she turned to offer him polite thanks before scurrying for the furthest corner in which to hide until she could make a nondescript escape. She did not get very far in this plan, however, as before she could even speak The Lady approached, hurrying towards them from within the ballroom foyer.

“Law! There you are. I was just—oh!”

The Lady slowed marginally in her pace as she caught sight of Nami standing beside the Lord, eying her with surprise. “Bellemére! My, my, aren’t you just the woman of the hour!”

Lami came to stand beside the pair, tilting her head as she gave Nami a warm but teasing smile. Nami felt her cheeks heat and her heart resume its traitorous tempo. Just when she thought she was out of the woods…

The Lord, for his part, looked down at her in genuine surprise. “You’re Bellemére?”

Nami attempted to look both confused and abashed and found her genuine mortification lending credence to the performance.

“I—yes?” she answered in confusion, glancing to Lami with polite bemusement. “If I may ask, why am I the woman of the hour, my Lady?”

Lami laughed lightly. “Oh, there was a… how should I put it—a scuffle, between Philip Daine and Riven Soloen; over you, as best we can determine. Though about what I’m not quite sure. You wouldn’t care to shed light on the situation, would you?”

Nami felt her cheeks burn hotter. So much for staying invisible; she would be the talk of high society come tomorrow—the mysterious Miss Bellemére, causing fistfights among proper gentleman of the nobility.

“I—I couldn’t… I couldn’t say,” she answered with put-on bewilderment, earning a light laugh from Lami. “I had just departed Riven’s company when I heard a commotion; I simply thought someone had had a bit too much champagne…”

“Well… that may very well have also been the case. Whatever did happen, you seem to have left quite the impression,” she responded teasingly as a clock began to strike.

“Oh—goodness, ten already!” Lami exclaimed with disappointment. “What a pity that our festivities are already drawing to a close,” she lamented, turning from Nami to her brother, smiling sweetly despite the sharpness of her gaze. “You know, Law, I don’t believe you have danced once tonight!” She then turned back to Nami. “And Miss Bellemére—I happen to have it on good authority you have not danced tonight yet either.”

Nami felt horror wash over her as the Lady turned an expectant eye once more to her brother, a clear picture of what she was angling for taking shape. A brief staring contest seemed to occur between the two; and Nami watched, stupefied, desperately trying to spur her whiplashed brain into action—to think of something to say or do short of fleeing the scene at top speed to escape this trap before it ensnared her.

“Oh, I—I…” she stuttered; but words failed as her panic loomed larger.

And soon the staring contest came to an end, the victor clearly being Lami as the Lord turned her way, clearing his throat and offering her a polite smile.

“It would be a shame for you to depart without a single dance, Miss Bellemére. There should be one more song left—would you do me the honor?”

Utterly flustered and on the verge of nervous collapse, Nami wasn’t even able to muster a reply before Law extended a hand towards her. She glanced down at his outstretched palm, feeling the Lady’s scheme settle around her like a cage. She’d seen enough of Lami’s machinating tonight to know there was likely no way out of this, especially not if the Lord seemed willing to play along.

She took a subtle, steadying breath, attempting to center herself. She could do this—she just needed to keep her head together a little longer. Just… one dance. She’d make it quick and uneventful, then flee for the door as fast as her legs would carry her, conspicuous or not.

She forced a smile, reaching for his hand. His fingers closed around her own and he led her to the dance floor, pulling her gently towards him as he placed a hand on her waist, lifting their joined hands between them. She tried not to focus on how utterly insane this was or just how much she was tempting fate as, after a quick count of three, he spun her out onto the dance floor.

She found very quickly that in all her lessons with Sanji, she had made one crucial mistake—not practicing in her dress. For with the voluminous skirts and added weight of filched goods in the pockets hanging from between the bars of her crinoline, she struggled to keep up with the Lord’s smooth steps and the lively pace of the music. Several times she very nearly stumbled over her own feet, an embarrassed blush spreading across her cheeks.

She took a breath, following one of Sanji’s tips and briefly closing her eyes. He had advised her during one of their lessons that, when struggling to find her rhythm to simply fall in to her partner’s lead—and that the best way to do that was to close her eyes and feel the subtle cues in his body language.

Without the distraction of his piercing gaze or the business of the dance floor, she began to pick up on them more easily—the gentle pressure of his hand at her back, the push and pull of his body, and the tension of his arm. After a few moments, she found herself falling into step, and reopened her eyes.

Once she did, she found him staring at her with a smile, gaze sharp and analytical as he observed her. She almost—almost—lost her rhythm again.

“If I may inquire of your last name, Miss Bellemére?” he queried, ending the silence between them. “I am familiar or acquainted with all of my guests, but I’m afraid I am not familiar with you.”

“Ah… of course,” she murmured nervously. Though his expression was every bit the politely curious gentleman, his eyes gave her a very different impression. He was… assessing her; perhaps still looking for his mystery ‘suspect’. Whatever the case, she would give him absolutely nothing to cause suspicion.

“My last name is Devrie—Bellemére Devrie. My uncle is a merchant in the capitol; I’m visiting from Goa for the holidays.”

The Lord’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Ah, the Devries. Of course. I haven’t seen the rest of your family tonight—are you the only one in attendance?”

“Yes. My uncle—” she paused briefly, struggling to manage both her web of lies and coordination simultaneously. “He and his wife fell ill, unfortunately. But I have never seen the snow, nor Castle Trafalgar, so they encouraged me to attend regardless.”

The Lord nodded. “Very kind of Dorland.”

“Yes,” she agreed, hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn’t, of course.

“Whereabouts are you from in Goa, Miss Bellemére?” he inquired casually. She felt her heart seize, thoughts racing. Though she’d grown up in the Province, the Conomi islands were quite separate from the mainland—she knew little about Goa proper; had no prepared answer.

But she was clever—she could improvise. She was supposed to be moderately wealthy, right? And all the wealthy in Flevance lived in the capitol, so…

“I live in the Capitol,” she answered smoothly.

“Which ring, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Ring? What the hell did that mean? Ring… did the capitol have rings? He asked which one so there had to be multiple… Two for sure, at least…

“I… live in the second ring,” she responded politely. “It’s a lovely place to call home.”

Though she couldn’t tell how or why, he somehow seemed mollified by her answer. “And how are you enjoying Flevance so far?”

“It’s beautiful here,” she answered with only marginally put-on enthusiasm. This was a line of questioning she could better handle. “The snow is lovely—and the castle is… even lovelier.”

“That is very kind of you,” he said smoothly, “Although, I’m sure it pales in comparison to Lord Sterry’s palace.”

Though the comment was casual, there was a hint of a question in it. Having never been anywhere near the Goa capitol, let alone the palace, the only thing she could do was defer and hope he bought it.

“I—I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” she commented demurely, trying to mask her nervousness. “I’ve unfortunately never been myself. I tend to keep rather busy at home.”

She didn’t have an explanation as to why she had never been or what kept her busy, should he ask—and so she nearly whimpered with relief as the song began to wind towards its end, and his questions ceased.

There was a brief, mischievous glint in his eyes, then suddenly he was spinning her out, twirling once her before bringing her back into position. Barely managing the basic steps as she was, the unexpected finale left her breathless and off balance. He held her a moment as the final notes rang out, graciously keeping her from falling. His brilliant golden eyes bored into her own—sharp, scrutinizing, and strangely mesmerizing. Her heart thundered in her chest and she found herself unable to look away, pinned beneath the force of his gaze. Her own eyes were wide, chest heaving, and she prayed to every deity she could think of that he would soon release her before she lost her nerve entirely.

He lowered their joined hands and slowly pulled his other from her back; but instead of stepping away, he carefully raised a hand to her face. She felt her heart skip several beats, utterly unsure what he might do; then she felt two gloved fingers against the back of her ear and he tilted his head, gaze shifting to the side of her face.

“You appear to be missing an earring, Miss Bellemére.”

She felt relief flood her. She’d had quite enough surprises for the night—she didn’t need the Lord’s advances on top of everything else.

“Oh,” she breathed, a hand rising to her chest as his lowered from her face. “That’s… a shame. If you happen to find it, do let me know.”

He offered her the barest hint of a smile as he released her other hand. “Of course.”

He stepped away from her and she felt as though she could finally catch her breath. He bowed politely and she pushed through her stupor to curtsy in return.

“Thank you for the dance, My Lord.”

“Thank you, Miss Bellemére,” he responded smoothly. Then he stood, straightening his jacket. “I hope your return trip is comfortable, and do give my regards to Dorland. Good evening.”

He inclined his head towards her politely and she offered him a wan smile. Then, he turned on his heel and walked back toward the parlor. Nami nearly slumped to the floor in relief.

She waited several minutes in the ballroom, milling within the crowd as guests began to slowly filter out. She hid within the trail of people navigating to the cloak room where half a dozen butlers stood waiting, speaking with various guests before hurrying into the closet to fetch coats and hats and purses.

When one of the butlers finally approached she gave him her name, her cloak and bag quickly returned to her. She wasted no time throwing it over her shoulders and tying the ribbon at her neck, lifting the hood over her curls to hide her face. Then, she gently—if quickly, pushed her way through the crowd and out into the cold evening air, scanning the line of coaches for the one she had hired. Spotting the plain black carriage, she hurried forward, wrenching the door open and stepping up and in without waiting for the assistance of the driver. With forced calm, she directed him to depart for the trade district of the capitol, feeling her heart tremor with an echo of her earlier anxiety upon hearing the startling snap of the reins.

She joined a procession of carriages departing the castle grounds, and time seemed to drag as her carriage slowly trundled around the circular drive, down the road and past the gate house. The return trip felt far longer than it should have, the rocking and swaying of the carriage keeping her on edge; but as the castle disappeared behind her and the lights of the city loomed ahead, relief began wash over her. Soon, the carriage traded snowy road for cobbled street, tall buildings rising up around her; and before her frazzled brain could quite catch up, she was already pulling up outside of her destination—Baratie.

Sanji’s tavern stayed open late, and was widely loved and frequented by the masses and upper-middle class alike; it therefore made the perfect inconspicuous location for an upper-middle class lady such as herself to visit before heading home after a long, exciting night out. She would take a breather and get something to eat before sneaking into the back to change into casual attire. Then, she could finally head safely and inconspicuously home for the night.

When she walked through the door she was greeted by the comfortingly familiar sight of Sanji’s swooning as he gushed about her “delicate beauty” and “elegant grace”. It was that very comfortable familiarity that made the events of the night hit her with the force of one of Luffy’s hugs, and she felt a laugh bubble up.

Because despite her plans going absolutely haywire in the final twenty minutes—she’d done it. _She’d done it_. After weeks of careful, painstaking preparation she’d pulled off her biggest and riskiest heist ever, gotten away without notice or suspicion, and had stolen enough to _finally_ afford her sister’s surgery. Hell, she might even have enough left over to get Rebecca a proper Christmas gift this year.

God, _she had done it!_

But in all her weariness and relief and giddy enthusiasm, as she gleefully took stock of the contents of her dress pockets in the back of Sanji’s tavern, she would come to realize far too late that she had overlooked one very small, but very important detail: her missing earring.

And that one, small detail would prove to be the axis upon which the course of her life would change forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a [layout of the first floor of Trafalgar Castle](https://waterchestnut123.tumblr.com/post/189750736954/castle-trafalgar-layout-15) on my Tumblr, so be sure to check that out for a little added context and clarity.
> 
> This chapter ended up being a LOT longer than I thought it would be, but I'm quite happy with it. Future chapters probably won't be nearly as long (this ended up at almost 6k), so you know, don't get *too* used to it. Hope you all enjoyed, and don't forget to leave a review with your thoughts!


	8. Speculative Reporting

**_“Widespread Burglaries at Trafalgar Castle Ball”_ **

_“The talk of the town this past month has been the unexpected announcement of a ball to be held at Castle Trafalgar in early December for the most influential families in Flevance—an announcement which was met with great surprise given the Lord and Lady’s strident efforts over the years to maintain their privacy. The affair, which took place last Saturday, was expected by many to be the most glamorous and highly anticipated event of the year._

_"However, instead of eager gossip about the extravagant affair or the opening of the castle for the first time in almost a decade, what has captured the attention of the Province in the week following the Trafalgar’s winter gala has instead been a rash of burglaries which occurred during the ball—right under the Lord and Lady’s noses._

_"Initial estimates by authorities and reports from guests—many of whom did not realize they had been the victim of theft until returning home later that night—suggest the thief stole a variety of items ranging from pocket watches and brooches to silverware and billfolds. While the full scale of the burglaries has yet to be tallied, initial estimates suggest the cumulative value of goods stolen to be near 1 million Belli. Lord Trafalgar has assured the victims and the Capitol Inquirer that he is taking every effort to locate the culprit and see them brought to justice; but unfortunately, according to authorities, the trail appears to have gone cold and no leads have yet been found.”_

Franky set the paper onto the table with a crinkling rustle as Usopp whistled lowly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Nami, for her part, struggled to suppress a smug smirk, opting instead to raise her tankard to her lips as Frank turned to her with a grin and a slap on the shoulder, causing her ale to slosh against her mouth.

“OW! Nice going, Sis!”

“Yeah, Nami,” Usopp chimed in, scratching his goatee as he observed her with something akin to wonder, ”This is… really, really impressive.”

Nami casually flipped her hair over a shoulder, lips quirked despite her attempts to play it cool.

“They don’t call me the Uncapturable Cat Thief for nothing.”

Truthfully—though she hadn’t told anyone, the unexpected twist to the end of the night had been more than simply an embarrassment; it had rattled her confidence. She’d anxiously kept to the bookshop since the ball, too afraid to be seen in public lest the authorities be out searching for her.

It was only after lying low for almost a week that the article had appeared in the paper. She’d learned of it first that morning over breakfast, Robin reading the good news aloud to her at the kitchen table. She was fairly certain she had never heard words as sweet as “the trail appears to have gone cold”, and enthusiastically deemed it safe enough to venture out into public again; and good thing too, as she was beginning to go stir-crazy in their small apartment.

“Hey—how about another round? To celebrate!” Franky enthused, shaking his empty mug.

“Here here!” Usopp agreed with a grin, hoisting his mug in the air. Nami smiled, turning in her seat.

“Sanji-kun!” she hollered towards the kitchen; and as if immediately summoned by her voice, the cook backed through the swinging double doors, a tray with three fresh mugs already balanced on one hand.

“A step ahead of you, my lovely Nami-swan!” he crooned, crossing the short distance to their table by the fire and depositing three filled mugs in front of them, putting the empty ones on his tray.

“Are you sure you can’t join us, Sanji-kun?” Nami inquired, taking up a fresh mug.

“Ah, how I would love to! But unfortunately, I need to prepare for the dinner rush—hungry customers never wait,” he lamented, before adding with sincerity, “Congratulations, though, Nami-San. Your skills never cease to amaze me.”

He offered her a wide smile before turning back for the kitchen, a hand reaching up to his mouth before lowering to the bar counter, butt in hand, sinking the remains of his cigarette into a waiting ashtray.

Usopp reached for the abandoned newspaper, flipping the page as she returned her attention to the table. Franky kicked up his legs as he took a deep swig of his full tankard, turning her way.

“So what was it like, there? Almost nobody’s seen the castle since it was rebuilt. It’s supposed to be the most beautiful building in all of Flevance, built by a team of master craftsmen with the finest materials.”

Nami leaned back in her seat, a smile tugging at her lips. The first thing Sanji had wanted to know about were all the high society ladies dressed up like little taffeta cakes; trust Franky to be interested instead in the architecture.

“It’s the most beautiful and most ridiculously lavish building you could possibly ever imagine,” she said, hands gesticulating as she attempted to convey it’s stunning grandiosity.

“I mean, just the grand staircase alone cost probably as much as the entire last house I stole from. And the ballroom was enormous! Two stories high, with these amazing hardwood floors like a tile mosaic; and huge marble columns, crystal chandeliers the size of my bedroom, a mural across the whole ballroom ceiling… It was… breathtaking, to be honest.”

Franky looked awed and a tad wistful, thumb absently rubbing the handle of his tankard as he stared into space. “I bet Tom-san would have loved to see something like that…”

Franky rarely mentioned his old master, Tom. As far as she knew, he had been killed before Franky finished his apprenticeship to the man on Water Seven, years back, before it sunk into the sea off the exterior coast of Drum. But much like with Robin’s past, she knew better than to pry into what was clearly sensitive territory.

“I bet he would have loved it, too,” she said softly.

“What I wouldn’t give to see it for myself!” he added, mood lifting. “I bet I could learn a thing or two from a masterwork like that!”

“Oh—oh hey guys, check this out!” Usopp enthused, setting the paper onto the table and spreading it flat with his palms. He pointed to a small article on the third page, and as Franky leaned over to look, his expression soured with distaste.

“There’s a rumor the Lord might be courting someone! It says here that he refused a dance from every woman—except for one; and eyewitnesses say he _only had eyes for her_. ‘Bout time, eh!”

Nami felt her cheeks heat, quickly raising her tankard to her lips to hide her embarrassment. Really! She assumed people would talk, but an article in the paper? And he hardly “only had eyes” for her; she was seen with the guy once, all night—for fifteen minutes! Talk about speculative reporting.

Usopp scratched at his goatee again. “Maybe that’s why they finally opened up the castle…” he mused, then lifted a thoughtful eye to Nami. ”Did you happen to see her, Nami? The article says nobody knows who she is…”

Nami’s face burned hotter. She hardly wanted to admit it was she the article was referring to. Everyone had been singing her praises all day, and she was loath to contradict that praise with the truth of how badly she’d screwed up in the final twenty minutes.

She was, thankfully, saved from having to respond by Franky’s timely interruption.

“Are you reading the _Society Page_?” he asked with horror, causing Usopp to jerk in his direction with an ill-disguised blush.

“What?” he demanded defensively, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know the talk of the Capitol!”

Franky snorted. “Yeah, if you’re a snooty, undersexed housewife.”

“Oi! There’s a lot of valuable information in the society page—!”

And there they went. Insults and thoroughly unqualified opinions were thrown back and forth, and Nami leaned back in her chair with a relieved sigh. Trust them to forget about Usopp’s question altogether once they became embroiled in a bout of boyish bickering.

She slowly finished her drink as she watched their back-and-forth, Usopp extolling the value of social context provided by the society page’s ‘reporting’, while Franky insisted it was nothing more than a gossip rag for bored housewives. As the last of her ale trickled pleasantly down her throat, she glanced up at the clock over the mantle.

“Alright guys,” she said, interrupting their argument and setting her empty tankard on the tabletop with a thud. “I’ve gotta head out—my second shift starts soon.”

Their boy fight was put on pause and each stood to give her a fierce hug, finding momentary commonality in showering her with yet more congratulations. She met their praise with a smile and appreciative, “Thanks guys”, before turning for the kitchen to bid a busy Sanji quick farewell.

Upon returning to the tavern dining room Usopp and Franky had resumed their argument over the merits of the Society Page, and she laughed lowly as she grabbed her worn tartan cloak from the hook by the door, throwing it breezily over her shoulders. With a quick “See ya later!”, she headed out the door, trading cozy tavern warmth for chill winter afternoon.

Golden sunlight cast long shadows as she navigated the busy streets, late-day crowds and Christmastime shoppers filling the trade district and making her journey back to Robin’s apartment a slow one. She passed the dress shops and tailors and cobblers, young girls oggling the latest silk taffeta holiday designs in the store window. She passed the butcher and green grocery, each advertising holiday turkeys and fresh cranberries respectively. And soon, Geo’s cart came into view and she offered him a cheerful wave as he bagged a customer’s oranges. It was as she passed by that the the bookstore’s awning finally came into view; almost there—and just in time.

As she approached the shopfront, however, her brow furrowed in confusion; for despite the early evening holiday shoppers about, there were no lights on in the store as there should have been. Did Robin close early?

She stepped under the awning and up into the entryway nook, eying a sign tacked to the shop door written in Robin’s precise, elegant handwriting. She cocked her head, gloved fingers touching the note curiously. Ordinarily, Robin wrote in cursive. Nami knew this because she could scarcely read cursive—as much as she could read to begin with. Whenever Robin wrote in her journal or transcribed recipes, she always wrote in that looping, elegant, nonsensical script. And when she sent Nami to the store with a grocery list, or otherwise provided her with a simple written message, it was always penned in clear, precise font instead of her usual cursive.

Just like this sign.

She stared at it closely, slowly deciphering the message word by word: “Closed for the day. Please come back tomorrow.”

Huh. That was… odd. Though she supposed Robin knew she was due to resume her shift shortly—maybe she simply wanted her to know she had the rest of the evening off? Or maybe she was just trying to make her store notices clearer and easier to read for potential customers? There were a lot of children out and about today… Although, that fact alone made it odd that she would close early. The holiday rush was at its peak, after all.

She stepped off the stoop and back out into the street. She supposed it would be easy to find out, as the woman in question was likely right upstairs. Turning, she headed for the narrow, nondescript door to the left of the shopfront. Pulling her key from her pocket, she unlocked the door and pushed it open with with a grating squeal before stepping inside and locking both the door and the sounds of the street behind her.

She climbed the narrow, dingy stairs quickly, stopping at the small landing at the top to flip the keys on her ring and stick the second into the apartment door’s lock. She turned and pushed it open easily, stepping into the apartment’s warmth. The fire was crackling in the living room, a low flame rising from two small logs in the hearth. She pulled her gloves from her hands and her cloak from her shoulders, tossing the winter wear onto a bench by the door. Then, she headed into the living room, calling out.

“Robin? You home?”

Brief silence followed by the clinking of stoneware; then: “In the Kitchen!”

Turning right, she crossed through the living room heading toward Robin’s voice, rubbing her hands to ward off the last of the outdoor chill.

“I saw you closed the shop early?” she queried, stepping into the short hallway; however she didn’t get more than halfway through before the dining nook—and their kitchen table, came into view, causing her to freeze mid-step.

For sitting at the table in her chair beside a politely smiling Robin, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, was none other than Lord Trafalgar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't hate me for the cliffhanger ending *hides behind laptop*
> 
> I wanted to try and keep to my weekly Wednesday publishing schedule, and I've been wanting to write all week but have been super busy finishing my Christmas presents and Christmas shopping. Draft 1 of chapter 8 was already quite long and I always add at least 10-20% to the word count during revision, so I knew there was no way I could get the chapter out today with as long as it already was, thus I decided to split the chapter here.
> 
> So Nami and Law's confrontation will be coming next week (but I think it will be worth the wait!)
> 
> On a side note, this past week I have gotten a flood of comments on this story and it has been so unbelievably flattering! I've read every single one multiple times. Now that presents are done and gifted, I hope to respond to all of your lovely reviews later this week and weekend! Thank you all so much for your thoughtful comments!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! See you again next week!


	9. The Earring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> View a [layout of Robin's apartment above Ohara Books](https://waterchestnut123.tumblr.com/post/189946688914/robins-apartment-layout-for-my-one-piece-au-fic) here.

_For sitting at the table in her chair beside a politely smiling Robin, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, was none other than Lord Trafalgar._

Panic rose like a tide in her breast, her flight response kicking in—hard. The muscles of her legs screamed at her to flee, but she forced herself to remain composed—and unmoving.

The flood of Adrenalin had her brain working overtime to piece together the situation as fast as possible—all of the risks, and all of the variables. If she ran at the first sight of him, she would not only give herself away but she risked implicating Robin—or at the least putting her in a difficult situation. She couldn’t do that to her closest friend, not after the older woman had finally found peace and stability in Flevance after fleeing Alabasta.

More than that—she didn’t know whether or not he’d brought the authorities with him on this impromptu “visit”. If she ran blindly, she may well end up caught anyway. And, though infinitesimally slim, there was a chance he wasn’t here because of her thefts at all; or at least, that he wasn’t certain of her guilt. Running would only cement existing suspicions.

Ultimately, whether she ran, played it cool, or talked her way out of this—she needed more information. She would have to feel out the situation first before taking action.

Her eyes darted quickly, subtly, towards Robin. She sat in her usual kitchen chair, leaning back, hands resting comfortably in her lap and looking for all the world utterly at ease; but upon closer inspection, Nami could see her cool exterior was little more than a convincing ruse. There was a coiled tension in her shoulders, her gaze unusually sharp and analytical, and her expression just that little bit too controlled. She was on edge—wary and uncertain; and Nami now felt like the biggest damned fool for not realizing the sign on the shop front door had been Robin’s subtle attempt at a warning:

_Stay away, at all costs._

“Yes,” Robin interrupted her racing thoughts, tone mild and expression pleasant. “You had an unexpected visitor, and since you weren’t due to return for some time, it seemed rather improper of me to keep him waiting in the shop.”

It took her a moment to remember the question she’d asked upon entering the apartment. Slowly and with growing dread she turned to face the Lord and offer him a forced smile, fingers twitching with the restrained desire to wipe her sweating palms on her skirt. Sharp golden eyes met her browns, expression pleasantly neutral, and yet there was an undercurrent of cold, analytic scrutiny. As a small, pleased smile grew on his face, she knew without a shadow of a doubt he recognized her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

As if he could sense her rising panic, his unnerving smile grew ever so slightly before he turned a friendly eye to Robin.

“I apologize for keeping you from work; thank you for your hospitality. Please feel free to return—your friend and I can chat up here.”

Nami was distinctly reminded of his sister that night at the ball—for though his words were friendly and his tone light, there was something sinister underlying his pleasantry; it was not a suggestion, it was a honeyed command.

Robin hesitated a moment, and a part of Nami wondered if the Lord saw how his host’s smile faltered, brief as it was. But then she rose from her seat, inclining her head politely with all the grace and ease in the world.

“Of course. I hope you enjoyed the tea, My Lord,” she said with a smile. “Good evening.”

She crossed the room quietly, almost regretfully, gently bumping into Nami on her way through the hall. Her fingertips brushed hers as she passed, offering what little reassurance she could before she entered into the living room. And soon, with a light click of the door, she exited the apartment and descended the stairs to the street.

Silence, and the faint sound of the crackling log filled the room. Nami returned her gaze to the Lord whose eyes had, if possible, darkened with a sinister sort of pleasure—like a hawk who had cornered its prey. She didn’t know how in blazes he managed to find her—track her to the bookstore no less, but it was clear now that he was, in fact, here for her; and it seemed all but certain he knew who she was and what she had done.

Despite the panicked fog that was her mind, she couldn’t help but find it odd he had taken such a polite and unusually personal approach to apprehend her, instead of simply sending the authorities to drag her off to jail. She didn’t know why and couldn’t begin to guess; it was possible he wanted to confirm her identity, or perhaps he simply wanted to hear her side of the story before clapping her in cuffs. Either way, she could use this to her advantage. There were too many unknown variables for anything she did now to have a chance at working. She needed to buy herself time to come up with an escape plan—to find a way to make him show his hand.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to merit a personal visit from the Lord, but I am honored by your presence,” she demured quietly, modulating her voice carefully to hide her breathless anxiety. She grabbed two fistfuls of her dress to offer him a curtsy and polite tilt of her head, but jerked her head up in surprise when she heard him laugh quietly in response.

“There’s no need for theatrics. You’ve done quite enough of that already.”

She slowly straightened, watching him carefully, heart beating hard. He gestured to the seat opposite his own that Robin had only minutes ago vacated.

”Please, sit.”

Another command. She did not question it, and doubted she could. Forcing her trembling legs to move, she walked into the small dining area and crossed the space to the empty chair, noticing for the first time the items arrayed across the table.

Robin had offered the Lord a proper afternoon tea. Their best ceramic teapot was steaming on a trivet, beside which sat their pathetically modest jar of honey and a petite pitcher of milk. Apple slices and blueberries filled a small bowl, and a section of baguette sat sliced atop a bread board next to several large slices of cheddar and a small, pointed cheese knife.

She felt hope blossom weakly in her chest. Oh, she could kiss Robin.

Her attention was pulled abruptly from the table when she heard the Lord shift in his seat, sliding a hand smoothly into his coat’s breast pocket.

“Miss Bellemére—or should I say, Miss Nami—I believe… you asked me to let you know if I found your earring,” he said, tone low and smooth and all together too self-assured as he dangled the sparkling item from between gloved fingers. A smirk rose to his lips—that same devilish smirk he had given from the balcony that had caused all the ladies to swoon. But this time, it was very far from charming.

She stared, dumbfounded, at the glittering item hanging from his hand. She didn’t speak—couldn’t think of what to say. Any hope of talking her way out of this immediately dissipated like steam floating up from the teapot’s spout.

He carefully raised his hand to hold the earring within a shaft of sunlight coming from the window, causing it to glitter and sparkle brilliantly in the amber light. Glancing at it thoughtfully a moment, he returned his gaze to her, looking wholly satisfied as he took in her expression.

“I found it in the most unexpected of places,” he commented breezily, bright eyes practically glowing in the dimly lit room.

“Inside of my study.”

Her heart pounded hard against her ribcage. God, how could she be so careless? By the time she had gotten back to Sanji’s she’d completely forgotten about her missing earring. How could she forget such an important detail?!

Too tongue tied and too overwhelmed with the gravity of her mistake, she was unable to think of anything to say to rebuke him.

“Now…” he continued, lowering his arm to rest his elbow on the table. “I distinctly remember locking my study before the gala began—and I remember it being locked when I returned to it later that evening. Except something was missing—from my hidden safe, which was also locked. Given that I found your earring so close by, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He leaned forward and she felt her heart skip a beat, breathing growing increasingly labored as her flight response kicked up again, screaming at her to run; but he had asked her a direct question, and she needed to come up with an answer before she truly dug her own grave.

“I—I’m terribly sorry,” she stuttered, “But I… I think you must have me confused with someone else.”

Denial; she would just… deny everything, and hope it forced him to give something, anything, away…

He laughed, leaning back in his chair as he returned the earring to his breast pocket.

“Somehow, I expected more.”

“Truly, my Lord,” she insisted, desperation fueling her act, “I am sorry if you lost something of value, but I was not at your gala. As you can see,” she said, gesturing to the shabby room, “I am hardly a woman of means or title.”

He eyed her hard, humor fading; and she briefly debated if that was the wrong thing to say.

“Do you know what the penalty for theft of the magnitude you committed is?” he inquired, tone steely.

She remained silent, hands fisting her skirt in her lap in a desperate attempt to stay a whimper. When she didn’t answer, his lips curled into a wicked smile.

“Death. By. Hanging.”

Her heart skipped several beats.

“And do you know who it is that holds ultimate authority over all criminal proceedings in the Province?”

Again, she remained silent. His eyes positively glimmered with sadistic glee.

“Me.”

Despite herself, a choking sound escaped. His lips briefly lifted into a smirk and he leaned back, looking utterly satisfied.

“Stationed outside your friend’s bookstore I have five of my best men,” he said smoothly. “Tell me—If I bring them up to search this apartment, will I find the the match to this earring? Or the items you stole from my guests?”

Her mouth went dry, but that weak hope in her chest flared brighter. He had unwittingly given her a crucial piece of information; he had brought men with him—and now she knew where they were: out front, on the street. Few except residents and city service workers knew these buildings had a narrow alley behind them—and residential windows which looked out onto them. Her mind began racing as an escape plan slowly formed.

“Deny all you like,” he said lowly, the glint of victory already in his eyes, “But the only person you need to convince of your innocence is me, and I am quite certain of your guilt.”

Though his words threatened to overturn her tenuous calm, she forced herself steady with her last dregs of self-possession. She had a plan now, and she was ready to execute it. Clenching her fists in her lap beneath the table, she willed her heart to slow and her limbs to still their trembling. She took a breath, rising slowly from her seat and smiling coyly at him as she sauntered slowly around the table, hips noticeably swaying.

“Surely, a man of your… discerning quality and immense power could find it in his heart to look the other way?” she crooned, voice low and sultry, batting her lashes over half-lidded eyes. Stopping before him, she leaned forward languidly, affording him an excellent view of her cleavage as she tossed her hair over one shoulder. She set one hand on the table, the other gently resting a fingertip upon his sternum and slowly, teasingly, trailing it down his vest, weaving in between buttons. His eyes, she noted with relief, were wholly distracted from the table, gazing at her with disdain and impatience.

“You will find I am not a man easily swayed by such cheap tactics,” he commented with irritation, eyes never once lowering to her ample bosom. A man of restraint too, apparently.

Her fingers were inching across the table—she could feel the handle at her fingertips. She lifted her other hand on his torso, trailing it back up to his collar where her fingers splayed gently, teasingly across his neck, pushing his jacket collar away.

“Oh, but surely we could work something out,” she insisted smoothly, lowering her lips to his ear and blocking his view of the table all together. Her fingers finally wrapped around the handle and she firmed her grip, her other spreading the collar of his jacket further away from his neck. “You seem like a… reasonable man,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He leaned back in an attempt to put distance between them, and she seized the opportunity. As quickly and suddenly as she could, she struck, driving the cheese knife through his jacket collar and into the back of the chair, pinning him in place and knocking him backward onto the floor with the force of her thrust.

She didn’t wait around to watch him flail. With every ounce of strength and speed she possessed she turned and ran down the short hall, yanking open her bedroom door and slamming it shut on the sound of his furious cursing echoing from the kitchen floor. With trembling hands she shoved her low dresser against the door, bolting for the small window behind her bed which looked out onto the back alley below.

He had said his men were stationed out in the street—which meant if she really ran for it, she might have a chance to escape through the winding back alleys before they could catch up.

She yanked the window open and began wriggling through as a thud came at her bedroom door. A startled scream tore from her throat, but she didn’t stop, pulling and ripping at her skirts to get them through the window’s small confines. After several seconds of frantic effort and violent banging—was he trying to knock down the door?!—she managed to fit through, the toes of her boots balancing precariously on the uneven brickwork of the building’s exterior. She glanced down, noting fretfully nothing with which to cushion her fall; but as she heard the door finally slam open inside her room, dresser toppling, she took a breath and forced herself to jump anyway.

Vertigo and the sensation of falling struck her at once, and as she braced her legs to absorb the hard impact of the sodden ground, she suddenly saw a strange blue light expand around her—and then, far before she should have, she hit the ground with a tremendous thump, back-first, winded and wheezing. Though breathless and disoriented, one thought rang like a warning bell through her panic-addled mind: hadn’t she been falling feet-first? And the ground hadn’t hit hard as it should have—it was soft, and the ceiling of her room was above her instead of the overcast sky. She—was she was back in her room? But that wasn’t _possible_ —!

Suddenly she was being hauled up and thrown against the wall, an arm across her neck pinning her to the wooden panels. She wheezed, still gasping for breath, blinking rapidly as her vision filled with stars from the force of the impact. It took a moment, but as her vision resolved clearly before her eyes, she was met with the Lord’s feral grin inches from her face, his jacket now long gone.

“I underestimated you,” he growled, an undertone of genuine applaud in his words. “That’s twice now you’ve fooled me.”

She blinked in confusion, heart racing and breathing labored, struggling to piece together the past thirty seconds. How the hell did she end up back in her room?! She was quite sure of her sanity, and she had most certainly been falling from her third floor window, when—

Suddenly, it hit her like a sack of bricks. She’d seen the impossible before.

“You’re—you’re a power user—!” she choked out in stunned surprise between gasping breaths.

His grin grew, but he did not respond. His lack of answer was answer enough.

“I’ve been playing nice, but I can see now that was a mistake.” 

“Just take your stupid rings back and leave me the hell alone!” she bit out, struggling desperately against his grip, hands clawing uselessly at his arm. He pressed harder against her windpipe and she stilled.

“Oh, but I’m here for _much more_ than just the rings. What I’m really here for… is _you_ ,” he said lowly, that gleeful glint returning to his eyes. “You see, Nami-ya, you’re quite right—I am a reasonable man, and I’d be very willing to commute your sentence. But in exchange for clemency, I will need… something in return.”

This did not sound good.

She stopped her struggling all together and fell still, eying him with no small amount of suspicion. Deals like this were always too good to be true—and the catch usually too high to pay. But currently she was pinned to a wall by a very, very strong devil fruit user, on the third floor of a building surrounded by his goons. She didn’t exactly have a lot of cards to play.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she let out a wheezing breath.

“…What—what exactly is it you want?”

His lips curled into an unsettling smile, golden eyes bright on hers.

“Your _services_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho, the big confrontation has finally arrived! What did you guys think?? I'm eager to know your thoughts!
> 
> Also, a big thank you to the flood of people who have joined in reading and have commented on this story. It means so much!


	10. Fool Me Three Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note if you didn't see on my Tumblr: the update day for this fic will be changing from Wednesday to Monday since that seems to be working better.

It had snowed in the days since the ball, blanketing the ground and trees beyond the city in a fresh layer of white. They trundled smoothly along in the Lord’s luxurious carriage, a muted, powdery crunch beneath its large wheels as they wound their way through the woods north of the Capitol on a trajectory for Trafalgar Castle. Nami stared down at her lap, trying to keep her gaze anywhere but on the man opposite her who sat comfortably reading the day’s paper, a small burlap sack filled with her filched goods sitting close beside him.

She would simply be possessed by the urge to kick him in the shins, and that would get her nowhere fast.

She readjusted her cuffed wrists beneath her cloak, sighing—breath puffing in a cloud before her. She felt torn between the urge to cry and scream, though she couldn’t really afford either in her present circumstance—one she was still struggling to grasp. Had it really been only a few hours ago she’d been drinking in celebration with Usopp and Franky at Baratie?

Well, she didn’t have much to celebrate, now.

Finding no comfortable position at which the cold, hard metal could rest against her wrists, she turned her gaze instead out the window, letting the bleached, uninhabited landscape lull her thoughts somewhere—anywhere, else.

_“So—wait… you want me to help you investigate and lure out unknown enemies who are trying to **assassinate** you?”_

_She was still backed against the wall of her bedroom, but once she’d demonstrated a modicum of compliance he had released his hold on her, standing directly in front of her with his arms casually—if cautiously, crossed. He nodded succinctly in response to her question; and as his ludicrous proposition took root in her mind she felt the caution which had arisen in light of his devil fruit abilities momentarily take flight._

_“Are you out of your **mind**?! I’m not going to be your bait!”_

_“Would you prefer I arrest you for grand theft?” he inquired smoothly._

_She shut her mouth, teeth grinding as she glared at him hatefully._

_“This isn’t exactly a choice, is it?”_

_He merely smirked in response._

_She turned from his smug expression, gazing angrily at the window. On the one hand, death was certain; on the other, death was simply very likely. And if she were to die in this endeavor… there would be no one left to take care of Nojiko and Rebecca. But for whatever reason he seemed to want her specifically for this task—so she, a living and willing participant, was of value to him. It was a card she had to play; her only card._

_She worried her lip a moment before finally speaking._

_“I’ll do it on one condition.”_

_“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making conditions,” he quipped with a raised brow._

_“This problem of yours is clearly big enough and troublesome enough that you would stoop to entrapping a common thief for help. For whatever reason you need me; and if you want my help, it comes with conditions whether you like it or not,” she snapped._

_His expression quickly morphed from amusement to annoyance, and she knew she’d shifted the negotiations in her favor._

_“Live or die—I get to keep everything I stole, plus the value of your rings.”_

_His eyes narrowed on her thoughtfully. After several beats of silence he replied in slow, measured words._

_“When the job is done… agreed. But only then.”_

_“Do I have your word?”_

_He looked amused but nodded nonetheless._

_“You have my word.”_

_He extended a hand between them, and after a moment’s hesitation she reached for it, shaking on the deal; but then his grip tightened, holding her hand in place as he quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, quickly securing it around her trapped wrist before snatching her other and cuffing it as well._

Turning her gaze away from the snow she glanced down again at her chronically uncomfortable wrists with a huff, fidgeting in her seat to relieve herself of whatever irritant was poking her in the leg. How—how—had she ended up in this mess? Though they had been driving for a good half hour already, she found she still kept combing through the day, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong or what she could have done differently to avoid this. There were so many moments—so many missed opportunities; if only she had _realized_ …

Still… she was grateful for Robin’s help, even if she’d still been caught at the end. The cheese knife had proven a near saving grace; if only she’d made it out the window before he could summon his devil fruit ability. Absently, she wished that Robin could somehow cross the distance which now separated them to aide her once more—sneak her something else with which to make an escape. She’d make much better use of such an opportunity now.

She fidgeted, feeling the object poke her thigh again. Irritated, she looked down, sweeping the fabric of her skirts aside to examine the cushioned seat beneath her. But as she pulled her skirt into her lap, she felt the poke again, and stilled. The object seemed to have moved with her skirt—was it caught in the fabric? Though it was more difficult with the cuffs shackling her wrists together, she used what leverage she had to pull apart the folds and, when she found nothing, curiously—and with great effort, reached into her pocket. Feeling around, she found her fingers closing over a single metal hairpin.

She pulled it out and lifted it before her face, starting at it, dumbfounded, as it glinted dully in the fading light. She distinctly remembered taking out her hair pins when she went to the tavern, leaving them on her dresser before departing for Baratie; and she felt fairly certain she hadn’t left any in her dress…

She nearly gasped as the realization hit her.

_Robin_.

The older woman had bumped into her on her way out of the apartment, and she must have snuck the pin into her dress pocket. Oh sweet merciful heavens she really would have to kiss her once she got out of all this!

She glanced over at her captor, eying him closely—carefully, feeling her heart rate steadily climb. He seemed fully absorbed in his reading, but still, she shouldn’t dally. This would be her final shot at escape; there could be no room for mistakes.

With nimble fingers she began to bend the pin out of shape, wriggling the makeshift lock pick into the lock of the cuffs beneath her cloak. She had to work achingly slowly to avoid making any noise that could be heard above the groan of the gently swaying carriage; but soon she felt the telltale pop of the lock, and the cuffs loosen around her wrists.

She quietly stacked the cuffs on top of one another, wrapping them up in her skirt to silence them. Chancing another glance at him, she was grateful to find he seemed utterly unaware of her actions, idly flipping the page of the paper as his knee brushed the cane which lay propped against the seat beside him. Perfect.

Her heart was racing by the time she began to review her limited options for escape. None of them were particularly good—her best bet was simply to make a run for it; he was far too strong for her to have any chance at subduing him. She didn’t know how fast he was, which was admittedly a large flaw in this plan, nor did she know the specific nature of his devil fruit—an even bigger flaw; but she wasn’t fool enough to trust a partner to hold their end of a supremely unequal deal. Once they reached the castle—its staff entirely under his command, her chance of escape officially hit zero. She _had_ to try.

Besides—she had the element of surprise, and desperation and adrenalin on her side.

She held her breath, eyes darting from him to the carriage door handle, then out the window to the landscape. Shrubs and underbrush lined the road, leading some fifty feet out to a dense tree line; but up ahead maybe only a minute or two, the road passed through a clearing. If she were quick enough, she could jump the carriage and dart through the barren field to the tree line, and maybe—hopefully, loose her pursuers in the dense woods.

She tensed, her eyes darting back and forth between her captor and the landscape, waiting… As the carriage passed the final cluster of shrubbery, she steeled her nerves. Heart thundering in her chest she leaned forward, hand reaching for the handle. With a sudden jerk of her wrist she pushed it down, leaping from her seat and putting her full weight on the door, cuffs clattering to the floor of the carriage as she leapt out and onto the snow-dusted earth.

She picked herself up as quickly as her legs were able and ran as though her life depended on, never once looking back. The cold wind whipped at her face like a lash and her blood was pounding so loudly in her ears she could no longer hear the sounds of the horses and carriage; but she didn’t stop, forcing her burning legs through the almost ankle-deep snow without slowing. The trees were just up ahead—she was almost there. She could make it—she _had_ to make it!

Then, suddenly, that strange blue light expanded outward around her like a bubble—the same which had surrounded her when she jumped out her bedroom window. She felt her heart sink, but pushed herself harder—forced herself faster.

An unearthly, resounding crack echoed through the meadow, and though she jumped at the sound she kept going; until she caught sight of the trees before her, and stumbled to a sudden, breathless stop.

As though they were made of butter and cut with a hot knife, the row of trees ahead of her slid apart along a clean, angled cut midway up their trunks, just above her head. In mere moments they fell over, a great groaning echoing through the clearing as the wood protested the sudden and unexpected strain, snow rising in a cloud around them as they crashed to the ground, blocking her path. She blinked in fearful bewilderment, powdery snow settling on her lashes, chest heaving, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing.

It was him—it had to be him.

Still trapped in his blue sphere and with nowhere left to run, she slowly turned around, her heart pounding so hard she felt as though she would collapse under the strain.

And there he was, standing in the snow on the side of the road, the sheath of his cane in one hand and its hidden blade in the other, smiling as though he were watching the most amusing scene play out before him; and perhaps he was. For in that moment, she came to understand just how outmatched she had been all along. This man was immensely, dangerously powerful. Though she didn’t understand what his devil fruit was or how it worked, whatever it did gave him the ability to fell a dozen trees at once from over fifty feet away—something no human should ever be capable of.

She’d never stood a chance.

Panting hard in the snowy field, powdery flakes settled slowly around them, her body trembling from exertion and the fear now crawling up her spine. She subconsciously hugged her cloak tighter around her as though its spartan weave had any chance of protecting her from him.

He took his time approaching her, steps languid and slow, stopping a foot in front of her with a devilish smirk.

“That was unwise, Nami-ya,” he murmured.

The trembling was uncontrollable now, fear holding her heart in a vice-grip.

“ _Please_ —” she uttered helplessly, unsure of what exactly she was asking for. Mercy, perhaps; a second chance.

“Fool me once, shame on you,” he said lowly with an unnerving smile, taking a small step towards her and raising his sword. “Fool me twice, shame on me.” He took another step, angling his sword above her head. “But fool me three times?” He tutted, closing the distance and bringing down the handle.

She shut her eyes tightly as she screamed—a sharp pain ringing on the side of her head; then the world went dark, and she knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is where updates *may* get slightly less regular going forward. With the new year I'm juggling a few new things, so balancing my schedule may get a bit trickier (that graphic design gig looks like it'll be somewhat ongoing/on-call, which is unexpected, but cool! Money is cool), and I want to return to my main fic (not for OP) and attempt to resume updates on that beast; but I am still going to be shooting for weekly Wednesday updates for this fic. I've got about 2-3 more chapters written in draft 1 stage, so with luck we'll be good for at least the rest of the month.
> 
> Speaking of which, happy new year everyone! We may be going to war with Iran and I'm sure I'll inevitably deal with godawful ramifications of that during the week, but fuck that shit Sat-Mon, cuz that's LawNa time.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, looking forward to your thoughts!! <3


	11. A Gilded Cage

When consciousness returned to her, she immediately knew something wasn’t right.

She was lying on something soft, and a powerful throbbing radiated through her skull. Though her faculties felt fuzzy and just a hair out of reach, she was certain these things shouldn’t be the case. Her surroundings too seemed off. Something about sound, and smell… it just didn’t feel right.

She wasn’t sure how or why she knew these things—but she knew them; and the discrepancy unnerved her. She breathed deeply, struggling to open tired eyes and recall the last thing she could remember—where she’d been and what she’d been doing…

Her brain ached with the effort, but images began to return to her in flashes. Waving goodbye to Franky and Usopp at Baratie; passing Geo’s cart on the way home; the strange note on the shop door—Robin in the kitchen with…

_Lord Trafalgar._

She jolted upright, eyes finally popping open as memory of their confrontation and her flight from the carriage flooded nauseatingly back through the rapid beats of her heart. Her head screamed in protest at the sudden movement and she shut her eyes again against the pain, cradling her head in her hands and finding a tender lump on one side.

“Oh good, you’re awake!”

An unfamiliar but friendly male voice sounded from nearby and she risked glancing up. Sitting in a chair before a table in the middle of the large, circular room she seemed to have found herself in was a large bipedal creature covered in white fur wearing a crisp gray suit. She stared beyond the foot of a carved wooden four poster bed in which she lay, brow furrowed as she momentarily doubted her vision. It was… a polar bear?

The besuited bear smiled at her, two rows of sharp, pointed teeth glinting in the dim light.

“How are you feeling?”

She stared hard, blinking, the fuzzy feeling in her brain returning in force as she attempted to process the visual stimuli clearly before her. It was talking—the polar bear was talking.

It continued to smile at her as she blinked in bewilderment at him with a furrowed brow. When she didn’t answer, the polar bear cocked its head, expression morphing into worry. Or, at least, what seemed like worry. Did polar bears worry?

“Can you hear me alright?” it inquired, fuzzy ears twitching along with its words.

Her stressed-out brain had had quite enough.

She screamed; shrill and loud, clutching the blanket to her chest as though the woolen weave could protect her from this phenomena against nature. The polar bear stood in a panic, hands extended in placation as it slowly approached the foot of the bed.

“Wait—please! Everything’s all right, I won’t hurt you!”

She tried to scoot away but found her body too exhausted and weak to do more than fidget atop the comforter. The bear, seeming to notice her discomfort, did not come nearer, hovering at the foot of the bed worriedly.

“What the hell are you?” she rasped out, staring with wide-eyed uncertainty at the creature.

It eyed her forlornly, bowing it’s head in shame. “I’m sorry,” it murmured, and she kicked agitatedly at the foot board, startling it upright.

“That’s not an answer!” she demanded shrilly.

It looked forlorn again, but answered her question this time, if meekly.

“I—I’m a mink.”

She stared uncomprehendingly, but it didn’t elaborate.

“What the _hell_ is a Mink? Who are you?! Where am I? Why am I here?!”

The polar bear opened its mouth to answer, but before it could get more words out—how was it even speaking?!—the door swung open; and in walked Lord Trafalgar, hands in his pockets, exuding all the collected calm of someone who had seen far stranger things than a talking polar bear.

“I see she’s awoken,” he said, directing the question at the bear.

“Ah… yes,” it answered awkwardly, rubbing the back of its head with one large furry paw. “She… has a lot of questions.”

“So I gathered.”

Nami stilled and fell silent, her heart kicking into an anxious rhythm. Her eyes closely followed his entrance, as cornered prey would a predator. With effort, she summoned the strength to scoot slowly backwards in the bed, finding her shoulders hitting the headboard all together too soon.

The last she had seen of him she’d feared he was about to strike her down. Judging by the fact that she was still alive and possessed a nasty bump on the head, she could see he’d merely knocked her out; but despite that nasty bump, she remembered his awesome display of power—and how very little there was she could do against him should he choose to wield that power against her. She swallowed hard.

The Lord watched her, hawk-like, as he slowly approached the foot of the bed, seeming to find amusement in her open display of fear. Without turning from her, he spoke to the bear behind him.

“You may leave. I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

Without question the bear turned, nodding kindly to her and offering a gentle smile on its way out of the room. With a soft thud, the door closed behind it.

Silence, and the soft crackle of the fire filled the room. When she did not move to speak, the Lord smirked, leaning against one of the posters at the foot of the bed.

“You are safe, for now. I won’t hurt you.”

She eyed him warily, rather disbelieving of that statement.

“How long is ‘for now’?” she responded carefully.

“That’s really rather up to you.”

Her brow furrowed, but she allowed herself to relax just a bit.

“What does that mean?”

He eyed her thoughtfully a moment before he pulled away from the poster. She watched cautiously as he grabbed the chair the polar bear had been sitting in and pulled it around the bed, stopping when he was situated on the side of it, near her. Taking a seat, he crossed one leg over his knee, arms folded casually as he turned his eyes on her.

“I agreed to clemency in exchange for your service; but your performance earlier rather makes me doubt your willingness to uphold your end of the bargain.”

“I find myself rather doubting _your_ willingness to uphold _your_ end of the bargain,” she countered, forcing herself to keep her tone cool and neutral—and free of any resentful bite.

“I gave you my word.”

“And how much is that worth?”

Their eyes met in a flinty, silent war of wills; and though she was loath to give him the victory, she found herself unable to hold his gaze. Turning to stare across the room at the fire roaring in the hearth, she was momentarily at a loss before the embittered words flowed from her lips unbidden.

“I’m not fool enough to blindly trust such an unequal bargain. There’s nothing to stop you from holding that sentence over me the whole time I’m working for you, and nothing to stop you from sending me to the gallows once I’m done. I have no reason to trust this will do anything more than buy myself a few more months—nothing but your _word_ ,” she emphasized with distaste and thinly veiled skepticism.

He eyed her for several moments, the silence heavy.

“If I am to uncover the identity of my enemies,” he said slowly, “I will need a skilled and focused partner—not a fear-stricken lackey. You’re of no use to me under duress, so I gain nothing from holding that sentence over you. More to the point, I consider such a service fair penance for your crimes, so I have no reason nor interest in going back on my word.”

“I’m already under duress!” she snapped before her brain could catch up to her anger. She silently berated her recklessness, hand rising to cover her mouth in alarm. He merely observed her mildly, waiting. Lowering her hand, she took a breath and closed her eyes, centering herself.

“What I mean, is…” she tried again more calmly, opening her eyes to look at him, “What you say is all very nice and reasonable, but it doesn’t change the fact that you _extorted_ me into agreeing to this in the first place.” Despite her efforts, she couldn’t entirely keep the bite from her tone, nor the angry frown from her face. Taking a fortifying breath, she continued on with slightly more calm. “That doesn’t exactly give me a lot of confidence in your character. If you want my ‘ _services_ ’, you need to give me something more concrete than just your _word_.”

His gaze on her sharpened fractionally.

“I prefer to think of it more as… _quid pro quo_ ,” he countered with a lazy smile., “And unfortunately for you, my word is all you have. So choose: Your rightful sentence, or my word.”

She scowled at him, arms stubbornly folded over her chest. He was obnoxiously shrewd; no manner of manipulation on her part was going to work any favors for her—he knew he need only keep bringing her back to this choice to get what he wanted. Of course she’d choose a slim chance at life over a sure death. She briefly pinched the bridge of her nose, reigning in the desire to jump the distance between them and strangle him. She let out a frustrated huff before looking up.

“Alright, fine,” she snapped, “You win.”

He smirked.

“But I want to know every single detail of what I’m getting myself into. You say you need a partner—I damn well expect a partnership.”

He nodded, standing suddenly from his chair. “Tomorrow. I will have Bepo bring you to my study in the morning. You can have your answers then.”

Gripping the chair he turned from her, dragging it back to the table in the middle of the room. She blinked, feeling slight whiplash from the abrupt end in the conversation. She leaned forward, mentally scrambling, so many questions flooding her mind she didn’t know what to get out first before he left.

“Wait—I… who’s Bepo?”

He paused beside the poster at the foot of her bed, a slight frown marring his otherwise collected features.

“Bepo is the Mink you shouted at. He will be your liaison while you are here at the castle. If you need anything or have any questions, he will attend to you.”

Her lips quirked in distaste. “So… he’s my handler.”

“If you’d like,” he commented breezily, lips curling into an amused smile. “Sleep well, Nami-ya. You will have a busy day tomorrow.”

Then, without further word, he strode swiftly to the door and left the room.

She slumped against the headboard. A million questions buzzed in her mind, the vast majority centered around him.

Who the hell was this man who somehow oscillated between the nobility’s most charming and desired bachelor to asshole of the year? And wielder of a devil fruit power, no less! That was wholly unexpected, and truly the only reason she was in this mess at all. She was she she would have been able to outwit any ordinary man.

The Lord of the Province— _a Devil fruit user_!

She didn’t know much of the world outside of Conomi and Flevance, but she did know this for it was true throughout the Kingdom’s six Provinces: Devil fruits were feared, and their wielders even more so. Though they weren’t wholly ostracized from society, they were damn near close.

It was hardly fair—plenty of devil fruit users were perfectly nice people whose powers were shockingly mundane or otherwise harmless. She’d met a fruit user once who sailed into port at Cocoyasi for an afternoon when she was young, whose sole ability was to create a bubble of silence around himself and others. He had entertained the village children with it—herself included, for much of the afternoon. Not exactly terribly dangerous.

Despite that, the social stigma was born of a very real place—and stemmed from very real problems. People feared that which they didn’t understand, and feared even more that which gave others undue power over them; for while there were plenty of perfectly nice fruit users, there were also many who used their powers for criminal ends. It was this, in large part, which had created such fear of fruit users, and led to their ostracization from society.

It was also why Luffy had lived most of his life on the street—and why Brook was in the pawn shop business. Because their fruits affected the makeup of their bodies, they were too difficult to hide—to pretend to be ‘normal’.

The scant few employers Luffy had had in the past—at least according to Robin, would inevitably notice the oddities about him, no matter how much he tried to blend in. He was made of rubber; his body could withstand colder temperatures without risk of frostbite or hypothermia (something to do with the rubberiness of his organs producing better blood flow—also according to Robin), and his bones did not break. That wasn’t even taking into account his stretchiness, which was often discovered by a casual tug or pull of an arm or hand by a coworker. Eventually, inevitably, anyone who spent enough time around him was able to put two and two together; and no amount of Luffy’s goofy charm could convince people he meant them no harm.

And Brook—poor Brook never even stood a chance of pretending like Luffy; and to be saddled with a fruit that made him look so frightening. Most people crossed the street to avoid him when in public. It was why he had ended up in the slums. Only criminals were willing to put up with his presence, and only criminals were willing to do business with him.

But for the Lord of the Province himself to be a devil fruit user—and a powerful one at that? It would cause absolute bedlam if it got out. She could see, now, why he had remained so reclusive for so many years; it was probably to hide his devil fruit.

The thought absently floated through her mind that she could, perhaps, use this fact against him; how, where, and when, though, were difficult questions. Trapped as she now was in his castle, she doubted very much that she would have an opportunity to leverage this knowledge against him; and it was quite possible that such a threat may be the one thing to make him go back on his self-proclaimed honorable word.

And all that didn’t even consider whatever scheme he had up his sleeve to root out as-yet unknown enemies attempting to assassinate him. How did one even come to know they were the target of assassination but not know who was trying to assassinate them? Did he truly have so many enemies he couldn’t begin to guess?!

With an exhausted huff she slumped sideways on the bed, head hitting the plush comforter with a muted thump. The crackle of the fire was once more the dominant sound in the room as she forced her weary thoughts to subside, bringing her hands up to scrub at her face. This was too much—too many things to think about, too many pieces to account for, and far too many unknowns for her liking. Letting out a sigh, she let her hands fall from her face, turning to stare up at the ceiling of the four poster.

Just this afternoon she was laughing and joking with Franky and Usopp at Baratie about being ‘uncatchable’. What was the word for this—hubris? She should never have said the word—never jinxed her record.

She wondered absently what Robin thought, returning home to an empty apartment—her, up and disappearing without a word. She would probably assume the worst, knowing what she knew about Nami’s activities. She hoped the woman didn’t think her already dead.

The urge to cry welled suddenly and strongly within her.

The damn bear was supposed to be back soon, though—and she’d be damned if she let any of them see her tears. She forced herself upright; she needed a distraction.

Flipping the woven throw off of herself, she swung her legs out of bed, setting her feet on the ground and taking stock of the room.

It was a large, circular space—one of the corner towers, she could only assume. The ceiling rose high above her—nearly two stories, the walls made of a smooth stone. On the far side of the room were two doors and an archway currently covered by a thick curtain. One door she knew to be the entrance to the room. The other she suspected to be a bathroom. The archway… a dressing room perhaps? A study or reading room? She would have to investigate later.

Against the curving wall opposite the bed was a large stone fireplace currently crackling with a warm blaze, a large oil painting depicting a pastoral scene hanging above its mantle. A sitting area was arranged before the fire, two plush arm chairs and a small circular table between them.

In the center of the room was the table at which the bear had been seated, and from which the Lord had taken his chair. Glancing about, she noted a variety of finely made furniture situated neatly against the walls, between large floor-to-ceiling windows trimmed in velvet curtains: an elegant wooden vanity, a large wardrobe and full-length mirror set in carved wood, a dressing screen of floral patterned fabric, and a gleaming radiator near one of the bedside tables.

In a word, the room was sumptuous. She immediately hated it.

Rising from the bed wearily, she walked to the nearest window, pulling back the curtains and glancing outside into the gloom. She could see little more than the pointed, powdered tops of pine trees stretching out into the distance, illuminated faintly by a crescent moon; but she could quickly tell escape was unlikely due to height alone. She was on the top floor, at least three stories up; and it was a sheer drop from the window.

A knock came suddenly at the door and she turned, finding the bear re-entering with a tray of food. She was less startled this time, though the fact of his existence left something of a lingering wonder. The only animal-like humanoid she knew of was Chopper, and that was because he was a reindeer who ate the human-human fruit (and was an example of the exceedingly rare occurrence of a devil fruit user’s usefulness outweighing the social stigma—though his cuteness probably helped with that). But there was only one devil fruit of any given kind in existence at a time. How he could exist was beyond her.

The polar bear smiled at her, fur twitching around his mouth as he shut the door behind him.

“I brought your dinner, Miss Nami,” he said kindly, moving towards the table in the center of the room. She eyed him speculatively. She didn’t bother to ask how he knew her name, simply turned from the window and wearily made for the table. It had been a long day, and she was hungry.

He set the silver tray upon the table, removing the lid to reveal a steaming pot of shepherd’s pie with a small loaf of bread and glass of cold milk. The tantalizing smell alone had her hastening her strides to the table.

The polar bear, it seemed, was a gentleman—for as she approached he pulled out her chair for her. She tucked into it without a word, too worn out to comment, let alone offer thanks. Once he pushed in her chair he turned to offer her another smile and nod of his head.

“I’ll let you enjoy your dinner. There are fresh night dresses available for you in the wardrobe, and a bathroom through there,” he said, lifting one furry paw to point at the door beside the one she had seen the Lord and Bepo enter through.

She sighed, leaning back; it was worth at least one try.

“And I don’t suppose you would be any more willing or able to answer my questions?”

Bepo shook his head, looking sincerely apologetic.

“No, I’m sorry.”

She huffed, feeling slightly soured but unsurprised.

“The Lord will explain your role here, and answer any questions you have tomorrow,” the bear promised with a placating smile, “Until then, please rest. You have no doubt had a long day.”

He offered her a frightfully endearing smile then, one that managed to lift the corners of her lips despite herself. He looked like all together too much like a giant stuffed children’s toy. Gathering the lid of the tray, he headed towards the door. Looking back briefly, he added shyly, “Goodnight, Miss Nami.”

Then he shut the door behind him, the soft click of a lock followed by the scraping thud of a wooden bar. She frowned, staring at the door. Of course they would bar her in; she couldn’t pick a bar.

Forcing her attention away from the door and back to her meal, she stared down at her dinner and appreciatively—if somewhat ruefully, tucked in. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast—the spiced mead and snacks at Sanji’s hardly counting as a meal; and after the exhausting day she’d had, she was utterly famished.

The food was delicious—something she was only able to notice absently, however, as she found herself having a difficult time focusing on her taste buds when her thoughts kept winding their way back to her irritatingly persistent worries.

She had been fully and completely backed into a corner, and she hated it. Gripping her spoon tightly, she stabbed at the pie angrily before spooning her next bite. He’d even managed to lock her in a tower like some ridiculous Princess in one of the fairy tale books Nojiko would read aloud to Rebecca at bedtime. Only she didn’t have a prince charming coming to rescue her; more like a prince _un_ -charming, keeping her in.

Glancing once more to the window, she eyed the gently falling snow barely visible in what light seeped out into the night air through the window pane. She was strangely reminded of the trickling sand of an hourglass. Fitting, she supposed, as she herself was on something of a timer.

She had managed to negotiate with the Lord for the goods she had stolen when this was all over, regardless of whether she lived or died in this endeavor. Presuming he kept his word, she would need to get that money to Nojiko before the spring, or she and Rebecca wouldn’t be able to pay protection to the Fishman Gang. And should that happen… their lives would be forfeit.

So whatever the Lord had planned, she needed to see it done before the spring.

Despite her fury, there was really only one thing left she could do: play along. She’d lean in to whatever role he had planned for her, and do whatever she could to hasten the completion of his scheme. She’d just have to keep a wary eye out for any signs of betrayal, and any opportunities for escape (in the unlikely event any should arise). It was far from the ideal plan—in fact it was frankly a terrible one. But it was all she had, and she had to make it work. 

She just wished she knew what she was getting in to.


	12. The Scheme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been Very Busy this month, and anticipate continuing to be Very Busy in February. I know I have a lot of reviews I've yet to respond to and I'm not sure when I will get to them, but I figured between utilizing what spare time I have to respond to reviews or focusing on getting the chapters completed and posted, you all would prefer the latter.
> 
> That being said, I just wanted to quickly say THANK YOU and let you guys know I have read them and so thoroughly enjoy your comments and speculation!
> 
> I hope this chapter does not disappoint. With luck I will be on schedule for next week's update on Monday as usual. Draft 1 is half written already. Thank you all for your continued readership and reviews! Enjoy!

“I beg your pardon?”

The Lord eyed her with a hint of impatience, but she couldn’t seem to close her hanging jaw, nor stop the faint ringing in her ears. This was some sick joke; he _had_ to be kidding.

She sat in a chair opposite his position behind the elegant wooden desk in his oh so familiar study on the first floor, having been escorted by the bear down two flights of elegant stone stairs to the promised meeting after he’d brought her breakfast. She was dressed once more in her torn, dirty gown from the day prior, feeling wholly out of place in the opulent study—particularly as she was seated beside the elegant Lady Lami who sported an emerald gown of fine silk.

Admittedly, the Lady’s presence surprised her. Though she hadn’t spent more than perhaps fifteen minutes in the woman’s presence, their brief encounters at the ball had given her the impression Lami was far from the type to be complicit in such a dubious enterprise as blackmail. Despite her keen eye for reading people, she supposed even she had to get it wrong sometimes.

She didn’t like it, though—that she’d gotten it so wrong. She relied on her ability to predict people and read between the lines—drew comfort and security from the fact that she could so easily detect falsehoods and manipulate others’ perceptions and intentions. As it was, this whole situation left her feeling as though she were drowning in a sea of unpredictability and incalculable risk.

And so she only felt even more out of depth when she heard the words which passed the Lord’s lips but a moment ago.

Despite her anger and resentment and insecurity she had been ready, this morning, to put such feeling temporarily to the side—to focus on whatever scheme he had planned and see it completed as tidily and quickly as possible. She’d thought, slipping her mud-stained petticoats and ripped skirt back on that morning after a hasty sponge bath, that given what he’d seen of her skill set he was perhaps planning to have her to break into some secure location or other, maybe steal documents or other valuables. Perhaps he had even wished for her to cozy up to some of his enemies and weasel information from them.

She had psyched herself up for such likely tasks—looked herself sternly in the vanity mirror and repeated to her reflection, “You can do this, Nami,” until she’d finally started to believe that maybe she could.

And then he just had to throw her for a ringer, the goddamned infuriating bastard.

“Are you hard of hearing, Nami-ya?”

She blinked away the lingering astonishment, her mouth opening and closing several times before she managed to find words.

“No… I—you can’t be serious?”

His eyes narrowed fractionally, unamused by her slowness.

“No, I went through all this effort to pull an elaborate joke.”

Were it not for her shock, she might have been taken aback by his unexpected stab at dry humor; but a million questions buzzed in her mind like angry bees, demanding a redress of grievance.

What was this man _thinking_?! Who would believe a lie so ludicrous? How could she possible pull off such an act with HIM of all people? What purpose could it _possibly_ _serve_ to lure out his supposed enemies?

The first question to find voice, however, was unfortunately not the most polite one.

“Who the _hell_ is going to buy that you— _of all people_ , the notoriously anti-social Lord few had even seen until last week, suddenly fell in love and got engaged to a _bookseller’s assistant_?!”

He frowned.

“I will not have gotten engaged to a bookseller’s assistant—I will have gotten engaged to a foreign noble. You will be assuming a false identity.”

“I—“ she faltered. “What?”

“There was a recent shipwreck off the northern coast—“

“Yeah, I know about the shipwreck,” she cut in, “Torn to pieces—no survivors. What the hell does that have to do with _anything_?”

“ _You_ were the sole survivor,” he said pointedly.

She closed her mouth on her next question, its purpose nullified by his answer. She eyed him suspiciously. He continued, folding one leg over his knee behind the desk, fingers knitting together in his lap.

“You are from a high ranking noble family in a foreign land—Kuraigana to be precise, escaping a recent coup which claimed the lives of your family and fellows. During your flight your ship became caught in a storm and pushed you into the northern coast where you wrecked. You were found on the rocks by one of my subordinates—the sole survivor, and were taken into my care while you recovered. During your time here, we became engaged.”

She shook her head, scarcely able to believe such a grandiose story could possibly pass muster. Her unwillingness to play such a role helped a good deal in cementing her disbelief.

“No—no way, it’s too far fetched. Who would believe it?!”

Without missing a beat he reached into his drawer and pulled out the paper from the day prior already folded to the society page, the article Usopp had read aloud at Baratie circled in pen. He tossed it onto the table, gesturing for her to take it.

“Quite the contrary—people are already speculating,” he relied smoothly. “It would lend a good deal of credence to the story if the woman I became engaged with also happened to be the mystery woman from the ball.” Though she glanced down at the paper, she didn’t reach for it, merely turned to stare back at him, agog.

“I should think, one more public appearance together will give people plenty of fuel to turn speculation into accepted fact—and then I can announce the engagement.”

Nami had to admit, the story actually held together quite well once he’d laid out all the pieces; but it still didn’t change the fact that none of this seemingly had anything to do with the supposed enemies out to kill him.

“I still don’t see how this will help lure out your assassins,” she insisted desperately.

The Lord eyed her thoughtfully a moment, lips a thin line as though chewing on something sour; but before he could get any words out Lami cut in in softly, turning in her chair to face Nami.

“Allow me to provide some context,” she said with a gentle smile. “It was about… four months ago Law and I were first targeted for assassination—“

“Wait, wait, wait—targeted for assassination? _Four_ months ago? How come I’ve never heard about this? Surely the Capitol Enquirer would have had a _field day_ with a scoop like that.”

Law cut in, eying her with thinly veiled annoyance.

“Because I didn’t allow anyone to hear about it,” he answered shortly.

Nami turned a scrutinizing eye on him but Lami continued pointedly before she could comment.

“We were both poisoned, but thankfully managed to survive the ordeal. We thought at first it had merely been an unfortunate mix-up in the kitchens; but barely a month afterwards I was kidnapped. That’s when we realized the poisoning hadn’t been an accident.”

Nami eyed the woman incredulously, feeling as though there was some piece of crucial information being left out—that, or the assassin was rather unskilled in his profession. “You _both_ survived a poisoning?”

“Yes,” Lami confirmed simply—offering no further explanation before continuing. “And while I was kidnapped, though I didn’t see my captors, I overheard some of their plans. They intended to ransom me to Law, then kill us both during the tradeoff; and somehow, they already knew about the failed poisoning. That’s when it became clear there was a larger plot against us.”

Nami eyed the other woman before chancing a glance at the Lord who was observing the exchange mildly. She thought back on his abilities in the field—the felled trees, and had a brief ridiculous vision of him riding a noble steed bareback, teleporting a tied-up Lami onto the horse and galloping off gallantly into the sunset. She tried not to snort a laugh.

“I take it the Lord managed to rescue you?”

Lami smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. “Oh, no, I escaped on my own.”

Nami’s tentative smile fell into a frown. Now she was quite certain there was something being left out of the story.

“Okaaay… well, I still don’t see what that has to do with me, and even less what it has to do with me pretending to be the Lord’s supposed finance.”

“I’m just getting to that,” she said with a placating smile. “We’ve been trying for months to track them down—as well as whoever or whatever groups are behind these attempts; but since the kidnapping and implementation of increased security measures here at the castle, there has been no sign nor trace of the assassins. We’ve hit a dead end in our investigations—and since we can’t find them, our only remaining option is to make them come to us. We must lure them out into the open, and if what the assassins want is the Trafalgar line gone then the best way to do that would be be with the threat of the the Trafalgar line growing, don’t you think?” she inquired with a pleased smile, head cocked in a friendly manner as though they weren’t discussing schemes and assassination plots, but rather the weather or something equally mundane. “People have been wondering for years when Law will finally wed. An engagement announcement will make for huge news, spreading far and wide quickly—the assassins will surely hear of it. It will thus not only taunt our enemies out of hiding, but allow the perfect opportunity to draw in suspects that we can investigate on our terms and with with the appropriate precautions.”

Nami’s frown deepened as she eyed the woman. Clearly she had misjudged Lady Trafalgar in multiple ways, for she seemed to share the Lord’s particular style of calculated cunning—a family trait, perhaps, if of a different flavor.

For as much as she hated to admit it… his plan was extraordinarily clever. The scheme not only held up to scrutiny, but made excellent use of what advantages were available to them, giving them the highest ground from which to operate. Not only that, but it made use of their available resources well—taking advantage of existing rumors and speculation to lend credence to a lie sure to produce enough of a perceived threat to lure the assassins quickly out of hiding.

Of course Nami had some serious problems with this plan regardless—the likelihood of the assassins changing their primary target to her, for instance, in an attempt to nip the aforementioned growth of the Trafalgar line in the bud. However at the moment, one problem in particular stood out to her—the elephant in the room being totally ignored.

“And… you expect _me_ to be the doe-eyed fawning financé?”

It was the Lord who answered her question, turning his gaze to her somewhat distastefully.

“Fawning is not strictly required, but yes.”

“But I can’t stand you,” she blurted without thinking. He raised a brow at her, and she felt more than saw as Lami shifted awkwardly in her seat.

“What?” she demanded harshly, glancing between the two of them. “This shouldn’t be a surprise. How do you expect anyone to believe _we_ are engaged?!”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I won’t have a problem playing my part—if you do, I suggest you start working to correct it.”

She felt her anger flare, and leaned forward in her seat.

“Oh sure _you_ won’t have a problem— _you’re_ calling all the shots. You just go on ahead and criticize the woman you _threatened with death_ for having difficulty pretending to _like you!_ ”

Without realizing it she had stood, slamming her hands on his desk and quivering with barely restrained anger as she leaned over its surface, staring him down. A small smirk rose at the corner of his lips and his eyes sharpened on her, as though enjoying her outburst.

“As I said,” he responded smoothly, “If you have a problem, I suggest you start working to correct it.”

She glared at him, her anger simmering dangerously, the silence in the room growing ever more oppressive.

“So you really did need bait,” she spat, tone low. “That’s why you needed someone who couldn’t tell you no—because no one in their right mind would agree to this.”

She was seething, whatever calm focus she had corralled that morning all but evaporated.

“Yes and no,” he answered frankly, that infuriating smirk pulling at his lips “I’m sure there are any number of women who would be willing—wittingly or otherwise—to play the part. But you happened to conveniently fall into my lap at just the right moment, and possess a number of uniquely useful abilities to boot. So really, if there is anyone or anything to blame for putting you in this position, it would be yourself.”

“You goddamn _piece of_ —“

“ _Law_.”

Nami stopped mid-sentence at the sharp, unforgiving tone of the woman who sat forgotten in the other chair (she was likely about to say things she would probably regret later anyway). She turned in surprise, finding Lami still sitting primly in her seat, eyes firmly focused on her brother—gaze flinty and cold.

She glanced briefly back to the Lord, finding him staring back, expression unreadable. The exchange went on for several silent moments before the Lord released a sigh, leaning back in his chair and returning his gaze to Nami.

“You passed as a merchant’s niece well enough at the ball, but to pull off the guise of a noblewoman you will need a little… refinement,” he said with unexpected tact, as though the whole exchange between them had never occurred.

She gazed back and forth between the Lord and Lady in slight bewilderment before retaking her seat awkwardly. Clearly… Lami had some serious sway with him; and, though this was admittedly somewhat of a wishful guess, perhaps did not see eye-to-eye with him on certain aspects of his plan.

The Lord gestured to his sister.

“That is why Lami is here,” he continued, and she forced her attention back to the conversation, pushing her lingering anger to the rear of her mind; she could deal with it later—maybe a good scream into her pillow later that night. “She will be helping you to look and act the part.”

Lami turned to her, all smiles again. “We have a lot to do before you two can make your first public appearance. We’ll need to get you fitted for some new dresses—a haircut and manicure are a must, and of course etiquette lessons…”

Lami droned on pleasantly, but Nami’s brain struggled to keep up, too overwhelmed with processing the past several minutes. She had expected many things, and though herself quite thoughtful and broad-minded when considering the possibilities. This, however, had _not_ been a turn of events she had been prepared for, and now that it had been thrust into her lap, wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.

Playing the Lord’s financé—dangling the looming threat of an heir over the unknown assassins’ heads would be a threat that whoever was wanting the Trafalgars dead simply couldn’t ignore. But how the hell was she supposed to pull this off? On the one hand a part of her was oddly flattered the Lord considered her skills to be at such a level; but realistically, she didn’t know how in blazes she could manage it.

As much as she hated to concede anything to him, outward or not, he was right—playing a merchant’s niece was one thing. The vast majority of customers at Ohara books belonged to the middle and upper-middle classes, and many were merchants wives or children. She knew how they acted—their mannerisms, linguistic patterns, interests and social moors; she knew how they should and shouldn’t behave, what they should and shouldn’t know. It had therefore been relatively easy to play such a character during her infiltration of the Trafalgar ball. It had been nerves, more than anything else, which made the event strenuous.

But playing a noblewoman was something else all together. Before the ball, she’d never met nobles except in passing—certainly never at the shop. But she knew from those passing glances that there was a level of precise refinement and care in their behavior that bordered on the obsessive. Playing a noblewoman would be, to put it mildly, incredibly challenging; but playing a noblewoman who also happened to be _his_ fiancé… well. She’d need a miracle to pull it off.

“—and If we keep to this schedule we ought to be able to turn you into a passable Lady in time for your debut next week!”

Nami snapped back to the conversation, finding Lami staring at her with something akin to girlish excitement.

“Wait, wait—next week?” an edge of panic was beginning to overtake her prior anger. They didn’t honestly expect her to master this role in a week, did they?

“Yes—next week,” the Lord reiterated, irritation evident in his tone. “Gossip thrives on relevancy—if too much time passes, people will stop talking. It’s vital word spread quickly about our appearance together, to ensure whatever groups move against us know about you—and there won’t be a better opportunity than right before Christmas.”

Her head was spinning, but the Lord continued on.

“So a week from now—” he reached again into his drawer and pulled out two tickets, tossing them carelessly onto his desk in her direction, “—we will be attending the ballet. It’s the last showing before Christmas, so it will be the most heavily attended. You’ll need to be ready by then.”

She stared at the tickets, then up at the Lord, then back down at the tickets. She blinked hard to clear the fog of surreality which was quickly overtaking her. He had really planned this all out, hadn’t he? Down to the last detail.

Beside her Lami clapped her hands together as she rose from her chair, an excited twinkling in her eyes.

“Well! With all the details explained, let’s not waste any time!” She reached for Nami’s limp wrist, hauling her up with surprising strength.

“First things first—we’ll need to get you cleaned up. We’ll start with a bath, haircut, and manicure—then, we’ll get you fitted for your evening gown!”

Before she could utter a word of protest Lami was hauling her toward the door with a frightful degree of enthusiasm. Still shell-shocked by the turn of events, and moreso, the speed at which they’d been put into motion, she only just had the presence of mind to glance back at the Lord sitting behind his desk.

He watched her be hauled away by the Lady, arms folded and expression thoroughly entertained. And yet… perhaps she had imagined it, but she swore she saw the faintest flicker of fondness as his gaze darted from her to his sister, his lip curling into an almost brotherly smile. She frowned slightly, brow furrowed in bemusement.

But that flicker lasted only a moment, and soon his eyes reverted back to hers, his barely-there smile shifting quickly into a self-satisfied smirk as he inclined his head, watching her disappear through the door. Her frown deepened into a scowl.

His irritating expression was soon hidden behind the wall as Lami pulled Nami out into the hall. Lami nodded to Bepo as they passed, who was standing guard outside the door. She heard it close quietly behind them, and the bear toddled after them a short distance behind. She returned her attention to the eager woman locked around her wrist as she was led down the wide hall towards the staircase she had descended only an hour previous.

She thought back to her morning at the vanity just before Bepo had arrived with breakfast, psyching herself up in front of the mirror. The situation hadn’t really changed, even if the specifics had. She still needed to see this job done before the spring.

Now, though, she knew what specifically that entailed—and just how hard it would be. She needed to master this false identity within the week to lure out the Trafalgar siblings’ elusive assassin and see them—and their backers, brought to justice. So if she were going to do this (and she would—she didn’t have much choice), she’d need to give it her full attention and effort; she couldn’t continue to play the unwilling hostage being dragged about by her captors, or spring would come and go long before the job had reached its end.

Straightening her shoulders, she pulled her hand from Lami’s iron grip and moved to match her pace.

“Let’s get this over with,” she grumbled, falling into step.

Lami merely smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are in play now! Kudos to anyone who saw this coming (and/or noticed the "fake/pretend relationship" tag and wondered wtf that was about). We'll get some more of Lami next chapter, so look forward to that!


	13. Becoming Lady Bellemére

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the point where I'll switch to updates every two weeks. I am *so tired* and have *so much* to do. This chapter isn't even quite where I want it, but I don't want to spend any more time on it, and It's somewhat of a filler chapter anyway, and I'm probably just being a fussy perfectionist.
> 
> So enjoy! I'm sorry its a week past due! Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews on the last chapter (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Nami had always thought herself to be of adequate cleanliness and hygiene. She gave herself a thorough sponge bath every morning, cleansing her full figure in a proper tub and washing her hair once weekly. In the summertime—during the brief few weeks in Flevance which saw temperatures one might call ‘hot’, she would use a simple citrus oil perfume of her own making on her neck and wrists to mask the untoward bodily odors which inevitably arose from the many layers of conservative clothing that was the fashion in the Province.

As she was learning, however, the upper classes—Lami in particular, had a very different definition of the word ‘clean’.

After their meeting with the Lord, Lami had led her back up the magnificent stone staircase Bepo escorted her down that morning, back up to the third floor where the trio returned to Nami’s room. Bepo once more took up station at the door—couldn’t have her trying escape; and no sooner had the door shut behind the pair of women than Lami pulled on a length of cord near the door and a small armada of servants were filing in, arms laden with towels and linens, fresh undergarments, boxes of bottles clinking together like wind chimes, and a host of other supplies with which Nami was unfamiliar. One particular young woman—a curly-haired brunette, unceremoniously shoved Nami in the direction of the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind the pair.

Nami was by no means a shy woman when it came to her body. Having grown up in the warmer climate of the Conomi islands where girls often wore men’s trousers and short pants, or simple linen dresses while out clamming or tilling fields, she had grown comfortable and familiar with showing her skin and figure; but it had nonetheless felt horribly awkward to be unceremoniously undressed by the young woman and then plunged into a full, steaming tub where, at Lami’s instruction, she was to be scrubbed from head to toe.

But she resigned herself to this fate, gritting her teeth as her skin was aggressively scrubbed with a loofa. Turning her gaze outward, she refocused her attention on her environment in an attempt to distract from the stinging rawness of her skin. She’d been too preoccupied to make much note of it that morning when she’d stepped inside to begin her daily ablutions, dark as it had been when she’d awoken; but now, as she took the time to absorb its intricate details, she found the bathroom—like her bedroom, to be utterly lavish and excessively luxurious.

It was as large as her bedroom back at Robin’s apartment—possibly larger if one took into account the added square footage of the soaring ceiling. The large, claw-foot tub in which she soaked was large enough to fit her entire body without the need to bend her knees, and featured the latest trend amongst the elite—heated indoor plumbing. Not only that, but a ceramic foot bath sat on the floor in the corner, something she’d seen only once in the wealthy homes she burgled in the Capitol’s most well-heeled neighborhood. A large porcelain sink with a mirror above it sat opposite the foot bath, and a set of wide cabinets were inset into the wall—from which the curly-haired woman had been pulling supplies. And directly above her in the center of the room—right above the enormous claw-foot tub, hung a small but elegant crystal chandelier.

A chandelier in the bathroom. Ridiculous.

It wasn’t long before her hair washing and body scrubbing reached completion, though not without the accompaniment of a string of quiet curses and mumbled complaints by the young woman (from which she gathered her name to be Ikkaku and that this was not at all in her usual job description—though what she did here at the castle Nami had been unable to determine). She was given a brief chance to soak in stillness and peace as the woman rummaged in the cabinet, allowing her sore scalp and stinging skin a moment to recover. She spent the time staring aimlessly at the ceiling, observing the dangling little pieces of cut crystal which made up the chandelier, thoughts combing back through that morning’s meeting.

She was both interested in and puzzled by the relationship between the Lord and Lady. For all his cold, calculated cunning and edge of cruelty, he appeared to have a quite a soft spot for her—a soft spot the Lady seemed well aware of and had no qualms taking advantage of when she deemed it suitable. The fact that she could reign him in with a single word when he and Nami had been at each others’ throats… it was impressive, to say the least. Impressive, and noteworthy.

It led her back to a point of great curiosity: how the Lady fit in to all of this. Despite her active participation in their meeting and seeming solidarity with her brother, she couldn’t shake the impression that Lami wasn’t all-in on this plan the way the Lord was. She couldn’t point to why, necessarily, but she was left with the lingering sense that the Lady was… ill at ease with this scheme, and perhaps disapproved of the manner in which the Lord had acquired… assistance.

It was always possible, she supposed, that she was reading things entirely wrong. She had no solid evidence to support her theory—just a strong feeling. But her ‘feelings’ had always born out in the past, and there was little else she felt confident trusting in her present circumstance.

She would have to investigate, she decided. Little was known about Lady Lami in the Province. Even the society section of the Capitol Inquirer had little to say about her—and they had something to say about everyone and everything. Insofar as Nami knew, Lami had a reputation for being beautiful, kind, and well-liked by those who knew her; but beyond that—much like her brother, she made few public appearances, and stirred no waves. So, if Nami wished to see the mystery of Lady Lami unraveled, she’d have to pry into the woman herself.

Because despite what she said in the meeting, despite even her own willingness to take the Lord’s deal and go along with his scheme—if a way out appeared, she was absolutely going to take it; and though time would ultimately tell, Lami could prove to be that way out. If her instinct was correct and Lami did have reservations, with great caution and care Nami might be able to sway her opinion—and she in turn might be able to sway the Lord. She always preferred her manipulations to be direct—she had more control that way, but she’d settle for whatever she could get.

At the very least, she mused, she might be able to develop a powerful ally in this damned castle.

She was pulled from her thoughts when she felt an uncomfortable poking and prodding at her fingers, turning her head to find Ikkaku sitting beside the tub atop a wooden stool, a small bowl of tools in her lap. She stared with focused effort at Nami’s nails, clipping and filing methodically.

“What I wouldn’t give for your nail beds,” she mused wistfully.

“Ah… thank you,” Nami responded uncertainly as the woman continued to turn her hand this way and that, clipping away at her cuticles.

It was a strange thing, all this—an unusual convergence of realities. She’d never given much care or consideration to frivolities such as the condition of her nails or the length of her nail beds. She’d grown up poor, worked with gangs get by, lived on the street—however briefly… Even working for and living with Robin had only elevated her to a modest lower-middle class. She’d never had the time nor the money to focus on such things.

And yet… long ago she had dreamed of such things—to be beautiful and elegant, with fine hair and clean fingers and fancy dresses; ever since she was a little girl and she and Nojiko got their hands on a designer catalogue—stolen by Nami from one of the trader’s vessels passing through their village’s small port, its pages filled with all the luxuries of wealth and privilege. They had dreamed of a far off future where things would be better—where they wouldn’t have to live in constant need and would have enough to consider niceties and frivolities. That night at the ball, hidden beneath her anxiety and strenuous focus, there had been a little part of her that had thrilled at attending the Lord’s elegant affair wearing such finery. Not that she had allowed herself to think much on it, even at the time. Her aspirations of such a life had died many years ago—along with her mother.

Now, she would be getting all of those things and more; she would be primped and beautified and dressed in fine tailored gowns of silk and lace, bandied about on the arm of the Province’s wealthiest and most powerful man. But heavens at what a cost.

Once Ikkaku was done with her nails, she was unceremoniously lifted from the water and dried off with a fresh, fluffy towel. Then, once rubbed down with lotions and splashed with perfume, she was slipped into a clean shift and seated on the stool where, now armed with a pair of scissors and comb, Ikkaku assessed her damp hair.

Nami had initially protested—she was fond of her long, persimmon locks and refused to see them chopped off for the sake of this ridiculous scheme; but the woman merely scoffed, pulling the comb none too gently through her hair to remove the tangles.

“Calm down,” she chastised with an eye roll. “Lami said to give you the latest style, and the latest style is long. I’m only going to do a little shaping and trimming—you’ll still have plenty of length left.”

Pacified if not pleased, Nami forced herself to relax and let the woman work. By the time she was done a half hour later, short strands of orange littered the floor beneath her and the contents of yet more bottles were copiously applied to her hair. Then, the styling began, and she found herself thinking back wistfully on the comparatively gentle tug of the comb as her long strands were violently yanked to and fro and her scalp jabbed with pins, the woman styling an intricate braided bun high on her head.

By the time Ikkaku and the rest of the servants were departing the room three hours later, Nami had been bathed and manicured, hair cut and styled, dressed in a fresh set of undergarments, and ushered onto a short wooden pedestal before the full length mirror in her room. An elderly seamstress circled her like a hawk under Lami’s watchful gaze, a measuring tape, notebook, and pencil in hand and a perpetual frown pulling on her face.

“She’s got a robust figure,” the woman croaked, eyes roving up and down Nami’s body critically before taking a quick glance at the Lady. “She could get away with borrowing a dress or two from you—your waist and hip lines are similar; but she’ll spill out the top.”

Nami blanched at the woman’s unexpectedly bald language. Not that she was offended—she was well aware of her generous bust, narrow hips, and wide waist; she had used those assets to distract her targets for quite a number of years now. No, she was merely taken aback. The Trafalgars—and their staff, as she was learning—were anything and everything but what she expected them to be.

Lami nodded thoughtfully. “Well, until you get something finished for her… how about my beige day gown? The one with black lace? It always was a tad large on me…”

The seamstress nodded as she consulted the measuring tape before jotting down numbers on a notebook. “That should work,” she croaked. “Might be a bit tight in the bust, but it shouldn’t be too noticeable, and she can keep the neck unbuttoned if need be.”

Irritation growing, Nami crosser her arms, looking sourly between the two women.

“You know I’m right here.”

The seamstress eyed her impassively. “Yes, I know,” she deadpanned, before looking back to the Lady.

“I’ll go get her the gown and she can try it on—see if it fits. If I start tonight, I should be able to finish altering a gown to her measurements by tomorrow evening. The evening gown, though… it’ll be cutting it close.”

“Can you get it done in time?” Lami asked worriedly. The seamstress nodded.

“Yes—but you’ll be working me to the bone. Be sure to tell that brother of yours he owes me for my efforts.”

Lami smiled in relief, nodding as the woman turned for the door.

“Of course, Tara. Thank you so much for your hard work.”

The woman waved a wrinkled hand behind her as she exited the room, leaving Nami finally free of the last fretting, fussing servant. She released a weary sigh, shoulders slumping. Who would have thought a bath and a haircut could be so exhausting?

Across the room, Lami smiled sympathetically, reaching for a dressing robe left draped over the dressing screen.

“Tired?” she inquired with amusement, crossing the room and handing the garment to Nami as she stepped off the pedestal. She gratefully accepted the offering, wrapping it around herself before collapsing into a nearby arm chair, the bones of her corset digging slightly into her thighs.

“Is all this really necessary?” she complained, and Lami glided elegantly towards her, taking the seat opposite hers and sitting down with far more grace.

“Yes. I know it seems silly now, but all these tiny details matter; and it’s important to practice acting the part in full costume, as it were,” she said with a touch of humor. “When we head down to the dining room for dinner—which,” she added, glancing at a clock on the wall, “should be ready in about an hour and a half—it will make for a good opportunity to do just that.”

Nami’s posture perked with interest. “You mean I won’t be eating in here?”

Lami shook her head. “No—I like to have the household eat at least one meal together, and since Law isn’t a morning person that meal is dinner; _and_ since you are now a member of the household, that also includes you,” she finished with a smile.

Nami felt a smirk tugging at her lips. “Is that why our ‘morning’ meeting was at ten?” she inquired.

A light laugh met her query. “Yes. He’s never been much of a morning person—ever since he was a child. He likes to start his day a good deal later than most.”

At that moment the door reopened and Tara walked in holding a voluminous gown in her arms, making for the bed and draping it off the side.

“You were right, this one should do the trick. If you can help Miss Nami into it, I’ll take my leave now to get started on the alterations.”

Lami nodded, standing from her chair. “Yes, of course. You can head downstairs Tara, thank you.”

The older woman inclined her head, then turned and left the room.

Wearily Nami stood, returning to her place atop the pedestal before the mirror as Lami opened up the wardrobe and began pulling out the final undergarments: a smaller cage crinoline, and a thick petticoat.

Nami dressed in relative silence—securing the crinoline, draping the petticoat, securing pockets atop it; then, with Lami’s assistance, she slipped the gown over her head and secured the skirt. She studied her reflection in the mirror as Lami attended the buttons in the back. Tara was right, it was a bit tight in the bust, but not unmanageable.

Lami stepped away upon completing the final button, righting her posture and smoothing out her gown as she gave Nami a once over with a satisfied smile.

“There we go,” she said softly, a smile in her voice. “Now you look like a proper lady.”

Nami couldn’t think of anything snide to say in response. Lami was right—she did; and the effect was startling. She knew she’d cut an impressive figure in her ball gown at the Trafalgars’ gala—but in truth, the dress had been doing most of the work.

But looking at herself now—every tiny detail was flawless. Her cuticles were trimmed and her nails clean—all filed to the same modest length. Her hair gleamed with a healthy shine she had not had since childhood, pulled back with such meticulous, detailed care the bun itself could be considered a work of art. And her dress—it was not only made of fine materials, but so meticulously cared for there wasn’t a wrinkle to be seen on the easily wrinkled material, such was the trying beauty of silk taffeta over its lesser polyester. So thorough was the transformation, she couldn’t help but gawk.

She was pulled from her bewildered staring contest with the mirror, however, when Lami stepped between herself and her reflection, a book in hand and a smile on her face.

“Let’s make good use of that hour and a half, shall we?” she inquired, hefting the modestly sized volume. Nami raised a brow in question, eyes darting between the book and the Lady with some exasperation.

“What, no rest for the wicked?”

Lami tutted lightly in disapproval. “This is a good opportunity to provide you with your first lesson in etiquette: a lady never speaks so frankly, nor so casually. She seeks instead to charm her company with grace and wit, and avoids any words or phrases that could be interpreted as a slight or insult.” Nami rolled her eyes.

“So stroke mens’ egos and soothe their insecurities. Got it.”

Lami frowned but did not comment. She tucked the book under one arm, reaching out with both hands to push Nami’s shoulders back and tuck a finger beneath her chin to tilt her head up. Then, she carefully placed the book atop Nami’s head. 

“Your second lesson:” she continued pointedly, “A lady always exhibits proper posture, moving with her hips to keep her torso straight. Shoulders back, head held high—let’s see you walk from here to the bed without allowing the book to fall.”

Nami eyed her with exasperation as she moved away, keenly aware of the book’s gentle weight atop her head. Lami settled at the foot of the bed, eying Nami expectantly when she did not make to move.

“Well?” She inquired patiently, waving her forward with an encouraging smile.

Nami bit back what Lami would not doubt view as an unladylike retort and made to step down from the pedestal—causing the book to topple right off her head. Nami’s eyes tracked it as it landed with a thump, spine-first, falling open to a page somewhere in the middle of the volume. She frowned.

Lami laughed lightly. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any different your first try.”

Nami glanced at the Lady before stooping to pick up the book.

“And is this whole exercise necessary?” she inquired distastefully as she placed the book carefully back upon her head.

Lami nodded vigorously. “Very much so. It may not seem so to you now—but to those born and bred with these skills, for you to lack them would stand out like a cranberry against the snow. It would draw immediate suspicion to you and my brother, which we of course do not want, so this in particular is a skill to work hard at mastering in your free time.”

Nami’s brow furrowed as she considered the woman, taking a careful step forward as she did so.

“And… you deem such a risk worth taking?”

Lami observed the other woman impassively, though a ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. “Do you view your skills so poorly as to believe yourself incapable of mastering proper posture?”

Nami had to resist the urge to scoff or shake her head. Instead, she took another careful step forward.

“How I view my skills is irrelevant. You have no reason to trust I can pull it off—I’ve certainly never done anything like this before.” She eyed the woman closely as she took another step, putting up a mask of innocence as she cautiously probed deeper. “You strike me as a smart woman. Do you really have such faith in your brother’s plan? It seems altogether too foolhardy and foolishly ambitious.”

Nami had expected the question to wrankle the woman at least a little, her dear brother being the subject of the criticism and all—but instead, Lami merely smiled serenly, nodding her head in amusement.

“Oh, it is very much foolhardy and foolishly ambitious; but I trust my brother and his wisdom.”

…Huh.

“Even if it leads the assassins right to your door?” she inquired, unable to keep the genuine surprise from her tone. “You’re risking quite a lot by putting your faith in a total stranger you have no assurance can even do the job.”

She was poking, trying to see if her casual doubts might make Lami to waver—show her weak points. But the Lady, it seemed, was made of sterner stuff than Nami had given her credit.

“As I said, I trust his wisdom,” she said simply, firmly. Nami continued her slow progress towards her, the Lady’s head tilted thoughtfully as she added with a hint of a smile, “But I applaud your attempt to drive a wedge between us on this matter. It gives me some reassurance to see for myself that Law chose the right person for the job.”

Nami frowned at her answer, the book toppling from her head as her shoulders stiffened in irritation. Lami let out a light laugh, stooping elegantly to pick up the fallen book. Only Lami could somehow make stooping elegant.

“Shall we try again?” she inquired mildly, extending the book. Nami grabbed it with a huff, marching back to the pedestal with it in her hand.

“The two of you really are siblings,” she grumbled.

Lami chose not to respond, and so Nami focused on placing the book carefully back on her head and begin the slow, careful journey to the foot of the bed. Turning her gaze on the Lady, she noticed the woman’s lips forming a tight line, as though she were contemplating something troubling; but before Nami could inquire what she was doing wrong now, Lami spoke.

“On the subject of Law,” the Lady began carefully, “I know you don’t much care for him, but… try to give him a chance, if you can. It will make this all much safer and easier for both of you if you can put aside your differences to develop an… amicable working relationship.”

Nami snorted derisively, catching the book mid-fall and turning back around for the pedestal with no small show of irritation. Replacing the book atop her head with a huff, she eyed the lady with a hard frown. “The man extorted me,” she emphasized angrily. “I’m here at all under threat of death. And—by the way, I wouldn’t have taken you for the type to be complicit in something so dirty. It doesn’t exactly raise my opinion of you, or place you on some moral pedestal above him.” She struggled to keep her balance as the anger behind her words rather demanded gestures go with them—most of them quite rude; but she withheld the urge. And while snapping at the Lady didn’t exactly fall in line with her plan of winning an ally or carefully probing for more information, her temper was rather short of late. And besides: she wasn’t going to see the Lord until dinner, so Lami was the only unfortunate vessel for her anger towards the man. She’d be happy to redirect that anger once she saw him again, though.

Lami frowned as she mulled over Nami’s brief tirade, fingers anxiously knotting themselves against her chest. It was the first time she had seen the Lady look genuinely bothered—she seemed so… _distressed_. It almost made her regret her words. Almost.

“I confess…” Lami said softly, “That was not my preferred means of… acquiring your services. I am sorry, and I do understand if, by association, that lowers your opinion of me.” She smiled weakly, eyes oddly hopeful despite. “I do hope, though, that we can at least be… friendly, despite my transgression.”

Nami found herself frowning at the woman, her earlier pang of regret returning. Did she have to sound so disappointed and act so damned sincere? It would be a lot easier to keep sniping her if she didn’t seem genuinely hurt by it all.

For lack of a good response, Nami chose to say nothing, focusing instead on her posture and her steps, and the book rocking gently atop her head. After several tense moments she managed to carefully cross the distance to the bed without allowing the book to fall, stopping short in front of Lami. She reached up, took the book from her head, and held it out in the space between them.

“There—mission accomplished. Have I earned a break yet?” she inquired in a bored monotone. Lami tilted her head, eyes glancing between Nami and the book as her lips lifted at the edges. This small cooperation was as much of a concession as Nami was willing to make, and it seemed the Lady was happy to accept it.

“Let’s try once more—then I’ll see about having Bepo bring us some tea,” she replied softly, smile growing.

With a resigned sigh, Nami turned back for the pedestal.


	14. The Occupants of Castle Trafalgar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surpriiiise!! I'm sorry this has taken so long, I've been *so stuck* on this stupid dinner scene. I even have the following two chapters 50% complete but I've just been blocked on this for whatever reason. Starting to work through it a bit, I decided to split the chapter into two so I could at least get out what was complete. Plus it gives me a little more wiggle room for the next chapter, and I'd wanted to write shorter chapters anyway. So here we are.
> 
> I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out--that's the part I've been most stuck on, plus I'm working through some major revisions to my main fic that are waaaay overdue so my attention is a bit split. But I do promise I'm working on this fic when I can. Thank you all for your patience, I hope you're all staying well. Enjoy!

“I feel I should give you some advance warning,” Lami said thoughtfully, her quiet voice echoing in the large hallway she led Nami down. “You may be a bit… surprised, by the people you will be meeting at dinner.”

Nami carefully side-eyed the woman who walked leisurely beside her with a hint of irritation. Lami had insisted she practice her posture with the book all the way down three flights of stairs—an excruciatingly slow process, as she’d struggled to descend the steps smoothly and without jostling the volume precariously balanced atop her head. According to Lami they were to meet the other members of the household in the drawing room to await their meal. Members who, apparently, would be ‘surprising’. As if the Lord’s powerful devil fruit and a talking polar bear hadn’t been ‘surprising’ enough already.

“And what exactly does _that_ mean?”

Lami’s lips lifted at the edges as they neared the end of the hall, placing a gentle hand atop Nami’s shoulder to still her.

“The company Law keeps is highly skilled and extremely talented—but that doesn’t necessarily mean they… fit in, with societal expectations and norms.”

She lifted the book from Nami’s head and tucked it under one arm. “I should also warn you about my cat, Marche. He looks ferocious, but he won’t harm a hair on your head, I assure you,” she said with a smile.

Nami raised a brow. Where before she had merely been hungry, now she was both extremely curious and exceedingly wary.

“I feel so assured, my Lady, thank you,” she deadpanned. Lami smirked—a gesture far too reminiscent of her brother, before continuing onward toward a set of double doors.

“Remember—shoulders back, head high. Hands clasped in front of you—no scowling, and put on a smile; there we go. Ready?”

Nami held her smile in place, struggling to keep her burgeoning scowl at bay—she did rather need to get this right and there was no time to practice like the present. With a quiet sigh she nodded, allowing Lami to push down on the handles and push the double doors open.

The murmur of quiet chatter spilled through the open doorway as Nami stepped inside, Lami quietly closing the doors behind her. Snippets of tax discussions and Christmastime plans softly filled the room; but she did not have much opportunity to take in he half dozen or so occupants or their animated conversations, as her eyes were immediately drawn to an enormous hulk of a man taking up the entire width of a love seat, scratching the ears of a massive, furry snow leopard curled in his lap like a domestic house cat.

She almost didn’t realize her feet had faltered and stopped, smile giving way to an open-mouthed gape as the grasped anxiously at Lami’s arm. She wasn’t sure what shocked her more: the enormous man or the leopard.

“Your cat… your cat isn’t a _snow leopard_ , is it?!” Nami whispered frantically as Lami gently pried her hands from her arm.

“Yes, Marche is a snow leopard,” she replied with amusement, eying the ‘cat’ atop the giant man’s lap with fondness. “We have a large population in the mountains and after the kidnapping, Law captured two dozen or so to use as security. I trained them to patrol the perimeter of the estate, but Marche was simply too much of a softie, and saw fit to adopt me instead.”

And just as she thought she was beginning to get a handle on the lord and lady… Who _were_ these people?

“You trained _two dozen snow leopards_?”

Lami nodded mildly, turning toward the large man and bending forward to pat her knees.

“Come here, Marche, I want you to meet Nami!”

The snow leopard in question immediately perked, its furry ears swiveling in Lami’s direction. Without warning it leapt from the large man’s lap and trotted across the room, finally garnering the women the attention of its occupants.

Nami was too distracted by the snow leopard’s approach to notice as several pairs of eyes turned to her curiously. Marche brushed up against Lami’s skirts like a house cat, and Lami scratched the space behind its ears lovingly.

“Marche, I want you to meet Nami. She’s going to be living with us for a while. Can you welcome her to our home?”

Marche turned its sharp gaze on Nami and she froze, barely daring to breath. Without further prompting the large animal turned toward Nami with what she distinctly felt was a predatory glare. As it neared it settled on its hind legs, large bushy tail curling around to cover its enormous furry front paws as it considered her with unnerving blue eyes. Nami merely stared open-mouthed, and when the tip of its tail flicked in what seemed a clear indication of agitation she took a step back.

“It—it’s nice to, uh, meet you Marche,” she said breathlessly “Please… don’t feel obligated to, ah, come any closer…”

The cat continued to eye her, tail flicking several more times and Nami took another step back, glancing warily up at Lami and briefly debating the likelihood of her reaching the doors before the animal could pounce. Lami merely watched the exchange with amusement.

“Oh yes, very intimidating Marche. Behave and greet her properly.”

As though her words invoked a spell, the creature’s predatory affect dissolved entirely. It rose and loped jauntily toward Nami, crossing the scant distance between them to brush up against her skirts and emit a low rumble from its throat. It’s muzzle found her limp hand dangling by her side and brushed against her fingers. With an unsteadily beating heart Nami tentatively scratched behind its ears as she’d seen the large man doing. Marche rumbled with approval, nuzzling into her palm not unlike the stray cats which hung around Baratie scavenging for scraps of tuna would when she’d kneel down for a pet. Despite herself, a smile rose to her face and a breathless laugh escaped her.

“So this is Nami!”

Nami lifted her head, finding the giant man walking towards them.

“Yes!” Lami enthused “This is she. Nami—” The Lady turned to her as Marche settled back by Lami’s feet, “Allow me to introduce Jean Bart. He’s in charge of security here at the castle, and helps me run the household.”

Jean Bart stopped in front of them both, towering over Nami a good ten feet. She stared up at him in nervous awe; but despite his towering height and imposing build, he had a kindly smile and warm eyes.

“ _Pleasure_ to meet you! I’ve heard extraordinary things about you.”

His eyes twinkled with mirth as he bent down on one knee, putting him only a head taller than Nami instead of a full man’s height. Reaching for her hand, he bent to kiss her knuckles as though she were an actual lady; though, she supposed, she rather looked like one right about now.

“Is that her, Lami?”

Two more young men appeared from behind Jean Bart’s bulk, eyes wide and curious. One sported a strange hat shaped vaguely like a penguin while the other wore a bowler hat and half-moon glasses, his orange fringes poking out from beneath his hat. Nami repressed a smirk as she took in their gawking expressions. So—she was the object of curious fascination for the other members of the household, was she? Well, far be it from her to let such an opportunity slide. It could be nothing but beneficial to have other members of the household in her favor.

Mustering up some charm from the bowels of her exhausted mind, she gave the two men a smile as Jean Bart released her. Gripping the sides of her skirt carefully, she lifted and curtsied before them as Lami had earlier instructed—skirt out, knees slightly bent, one leg extended behind the other, and lifted her head with a smile that just bordered on the flirtatious.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she demured, and one of the men—the young man with orange hair whom she vaguely recognized but couldn’t place, blushed.

“Yes,” Lami replied without missing a beat. “This is her. Nami, allow me to introduce: Shachi and Penguin, two of my brother’s advisers.”

She gestured to each in turn. The man called Penguin was indeed the one with the penguin hat. Part of her burned to make a teasing comment about it—and had she met the man at Baratie one evening after work probably would have. But right now she needed allies, and she needed to get to know them—and their weakness, first before she could win them over. Slow and steady wins the race.

She offered him a wide-eyed smile and a few subtle bats of her eyelashes. She noticed Shachi blush deeper, but Penguin seemed entirely unaffected. In fact, he seemed almost distracted; and indeed, upon closer examination, she noticed the most minute of glances towards Lami, and the shadow of longing in his eyes.

She repressed an amused smirk. In love with the boss’s sister? Cute.

“Alright, alright, you lot have gawked enough.”

The Lord’s sharp voice cut through the the impromptu meet-and-greet, and the three men before her parted to reveal the Lord behind them, Bepo on his right and a man with the bandanna covering half his face slouched on his left. As the Lord’s eyes caught sight of Nami they momentarily widened before an appreciative smirk grew on his face. He turned to Lami with approval.

“ _Much_ better. Good work, Lami.”

Lami smiled, but Nami was unable to reign in the slight downturn of her lips or the the twitch in her brow. Subtlety seemed to entirely elude this man! Catching her expression out of the corner of his eye, Law tutted quietly.

“Now, now, Nami-ya, you’ll give yourself early wrinkles.”

A burst of resentful irritation flared through her and she opened her mouth, ready to give a biting retort—but caught herself just before the words left her tongue. It wouldn’t do to be so openly hostile in front of the other members of the household—first impressions and all. So instead, she offered him a wry smile and a stiff curtsy; and when she lifted her head to meet his gaze murmured waspishly, speaking softly so only he could hear.

“May you be swallowed by the deepest depths of hell, my Lord.”

Tension erupted between them like a smoke bomb, and each held the others eyes in an icy, silent battle of wills. Though she felt fairly confident her comment had gone unheard by his companions, they did not fail to notice their sudden silent standoff, nor the permafrost quickly building between them. The chatter in the room quickly tapered into silence, all eyes turning toward them. Distantly, she sensed Lami fidget beside her.

Though his eyes narrowed dangerously a smirk pulled at his lips—he looked ready for another verbal spar like the one they’d had in his office that morning; but he never got a chance to speak, as suddenly the door to the hallway opened and a smartly dressed butler entered, unaware of the mounting tension in the room.

“Dinner is served,” he announced cheerfully, bowing deeply to the room’s occupants; and all at once the tension dissipated like smoke upon the wind.

“Finally, I’m _starving_ ,” Penguin groaned, his palpable relief due to more than just the announcement of their meal. Conversation rose to tentatively fill the icy silence, and the others in the room turned for the door. None seemed to notice the Lord’s lingering stare, nor the way his brows narrowed on Nami in a manner that clearly indicated ‘this is not over’. Neither did anyone see the twitch of her lip that clearly answered, ‘damn right its not’.

Then without a word the Lord turned to follow the flow of people, and Lami let out a quiet breath beside her before gesturing to follow.

“Shall we?” the Lady inquired with a good deal more cheer than the situation called for. Nami resisted rolling her eyes and turned to follow, Marche trotting devotedly at the Lady’s heel as they departed the drawing room for the dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Anubislover who also has a snow leopard in their fic--I think we plotted those chapters at the same time independently of each other, since I wrote most of this a while back, lol. Great minds and all that?


	15. Under His Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BITCHES.
> 
> I'm... not even going to bother with explanations or excuses for where I've been because global pandemic and nazis and Hell Election and a fucking coup attempt... Jesus. I hope you all have been staying healthy and safe and clinging to your sanity. Most of all I hope this adds a little fun to your day! We could all use a little lightness and fun.
> 
> I don't know when I will publish next. I've got at least 25% of each of the next 3 chapters written so it could be soon, or... not. Who knows. Def recommend subscribing if you aren't already. Apologies for any typos I missed! My eyesight's been a bit wonky (prolly getting to the "needs glasses" stage of my life) but hell if I'm going out in Public during a pandemic if it ain't an emergency.
> 
> Enjoy, and I'll see you guys whenever the next chapter comes out!

The dining hall was as obscenely opulent as Nami expected it to be.

A soaring ceiling rose above a long mahogany table lit by shining silver candelabras, all arrayed in a row down an intricate lace table runner. A crystal chandelier glittered above it, casting twinkling shards of iridescent light upon the ceiling medallion from which it hung. In the large, ornate hearth at the rear of the room crackled a fire, filling the space with warmth and amber light. Paintings of Lords and Ladies past flickered in faint shadow, riding horses and draped in finery, leaning casually against a plush chair or carved desk. They stared regally down their noses as the group filed in, finding their seats around the table one by one.

The Lord took his place first at the head, the fire behind him casting his shadow ominously over the table. Bepo and the two advisers he’d been conversing with in the drawing room, as well as the strange masked man, took the four seats to his left. Lami took the seat at his immediate right, guiding Nami beside her. An oversized chair occupied the space next to the seat Lami ushered her into, and as Nami tucked her dress beneath the table Jean Bart easily pulled the massive seat out one-handed and took his place.

While she didn’t mind being sandwiched between the two arguably most agreeable people she’d yet met in the household, she would have preferred not to sit so close to the Lord. She risked a disgruntled glance two seats over, at the head of the table. She probably shouldn’t have expected anything else, though, all things considered. Despite her agreement, she’d rather proved by now she was not one to leave unsupervised.

Marche gave Lami a final nuzzle, brushing up against the side of her chair before retreating to the far corner of the room where a silver bowl sat, shining upon a place mat set before a rectangular cushion. Even the cat was indulged in the extravagance. Nami couldn’t hide her eye roll.

“I’m _starved_ , Merry—what’s for dinner tonight?”

Penguin’s childlike whine of a question immediately caught her attention and she glanced his way in time to see the butler laugh from beside the fireplace.

“Ah, Master Clione has something special prepared for tonight—a seasonal specialty! We will begin with a butternut squash and pumpkin bisque soup with toasted pumpkin seeds, followed by a fillet mignon, with vanilla crème brûlée for desert.”

“Alright, Clione’s crème brûlée is my _favorite_!” Penguin enthused, hastily unfolding his napkin and spreading it eagerly across his lap. Beside him Shachi unfolded his more gently, placing it with far greater finesse into his lap as he fondly rolled his eyes.

“I will pass on the compliments, Master Penguin,” Merry said with a smile. Then, once the room was seated, he turned and departed through the servants door.

Chatter slowly resumed, and as the table became engrossed in conversation Nami finally took the opportunity to glance down at her own place setting—only to let out a quiet, exasperated breath. Arrayed before her were two forks to the left of her plate, two spoons on the right, with two glasses above them. Why in the world would she need more than one of each utensil?

She stared, cautiously removing the napkin and setting it atop her lap. Really, what a waste. But what was the entirety of this castle if not a waste? Her hand hovered over one fork, then the other, trying to ascertain their purpose. It couldn’t possibly be that she was expected to use a _different_ fork for each course—was she?

Merry soon returned with a bottle of wine, moving around the table and filling each glass. To her surprise, the strange horned man leaned forward to fill her glass as well. She eyed the narrower of the two goblets—now filled with Merlot, and swilled it gently before glancing at the empty glass beside it. Was that for water perhaps? At least _that_ made sense.

Lami must have noticed her confused stare as she soon leaned over to murmur into her ear.

“I’m sorry, I should have explained.” She delicately extended a hand, pointing to each utensil in turn. “This fork is for salad, this one for dinner. This is a teaspoon, and this is a soup spoon. This glass is for water, and, as you’ve learned, the other for wine.”

“Is this honestly necessary?” Nami whispered back, setting her wine glass back down. “I’m perfectly capable of using the same fork for my salad _and_ dinner. This just feels wasteful…”

Lami merely offered a light laugh.

“Oh Nami, this is an _informal_ place setting—a simpler setting for casual dinners with friends and family; eight to nine pieces of flatware are used for formal dining, depending upon what is being served—and we will of course have a lesson on that in the coming days…”

Nami resisted a scathing remark about the excesses of nobility, instead reaching for her wine glass and taking a hearty swig as Lami leaned back into her seat. Nine pieces of flatware… ridiculous.

Soon, the starter arrived. Two servants—the horned butler from earlier and a petite young woman, came through the servants door with a cart carrying a large, lidded pot upon a trivet. The woman went around the table collecting bowls, and Merry set about pulling off the pot lid, releasing a puff of steam.

“They were found along the wall facing inward. It doesn’t make any sense—they should be facing outward, toward the wall, if they were trying to escape—”

“But the warden reports no missing escapees so it couldn’t have been a prison break…”

Nami’s ears perked, and she angled her head slightly toward Schachi, who was in deep conversation with Penguin beside him. Though she hadn’t anticipated that she would be included in the household’s evening meal, she was all for unexpected opportunities to get a lay of the land… Who knew what they might let slip after a glass of wine and a full meal?

“An attempted prison break maybe?”

“But that still doesn’t explain why the footprints were facing inward instead of outward…”

The maid returned, carefully sliding between herself and Lami to place full bowls before each of them.

“Thank you,” Nami offered, eyes turning toward the maid.

Hm… She hadn’t considered the help. Perhaps this wasn’t just an opportunity to observe her captors; the wait staff could prove a worthwhile investment as well. At the least, it wouldn’t hurt to be nice. _They_ hadn’t captured her, after all.

She smiled a little wider, tilting her head at the maid as she inquired kindly, “What’s your name?”

Though the maid seemed surprised she smiled in return, warm and bright if a bit tentative. “I’m Margarita, Miss. Welcome to Trafalgar Castle.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind.”

The maid’s cheeks shaded briefly before she nodded and retreated to the cart.

“Maybe someone was smuggling in contraband?”

Penguin was still speculating, and Nami subtly returned her attention to the discussion at the head of the table.

“That’s the only thing that makes sense… The warden said they’d be checking all the prisoners’ cells this week. Can’t imagine what else it would be, given the evidence.”

“Agreed. I mean, who would go to all the effort of scaling two walls and sneaking past security just to waltz right back out empty handed? They must have been sneaking something in, ‘s all I can think.”

As the warm nutty aroma of soup reached her nose, Nami’s attention was pulled down to her place setting. The steaming bowl of bisque sat in the center of her plate, sprinkled with toasted pumpkin seeds and artfully drizzled with sauce. It looked all together too appetizing. Reaching for the larger spoon Lami had indicated to be for soup, she ladled herself a spoonful, blowing gently before slipping it between her teeth.

Oh, it was heavenly! Sanji would have a run for his money.

The first course finished quickly, Nami engrossed in her meal as discussion of the Capitol City Prison faded into a much less interesting discussion about the tobacco tax and the growth of lumber sales. Soon the bowls were taken away, along with the plates beneath them; but just as quickly were they returned with a small, flawless medallion of meat, accented by a dollop of mashed potatoes and artfully cut carrots.

“The anniversary is coming up. Where do you think he’ll do it this year?”

The speaker this time was Shachi, glancing to the masked man on his left as he cut eagerly into his meat.

“Outside Yuba. Maybe Erumalu.”

The man responded quietly, slipping his forkful of steak beneath the bandanna. Strange.

Schachi shook his head. “Crocodile is a weird one. They saw her sinking into the sand—they know she’s dead, even if they never recovered her body. I don’t know why he thinks he can recreate the day she died if he kills enough diggers on a reckless expedition—like it’ll somehow bring her back. Never took him for the sentimental type.”

Crocodile… Nami wasn’t familiar with the man, beyond knowing he was the Lord of Alabasta to the south; but before she could dwell on the subject, the smell of braised meat quickly took hold of her attention, wafting enticingly up on a curl of steam. She reached eagerly for her knife and fork, digging in to the main course with gusto.

“Ah—a little more slowly, Nami; and remember to watch your sleeves.”

Nami glanced to the side, her chewing slowing down at the Lady’s gentle instruction. She swallowed with a frown.

“Are you watching me _eat_?”

The Lady nodded, daintily cutting into her own meal with unerring posture. “While not a formal lesson, we can at least use this opportunity to work on some of your more… outstanding commoner habits. After all, time is of the essence, and there’s no time like the present, yes?”

Nami bit back a retort, instead frowning harder. She was merely met with a wry smile.

“Please bear with me, Nami—I know it seems trying now, but the sooner you master these skills the better.”

Nami let out a breath, her frown easing somewhat. She was right, and Nami knew the better her act, the more likely the scheme was to succeed—and the more likely she was to survive the ordeal unscathed; but it was still irritating, especially after such a long day.

“I heard famine is sweeping Wano again…”

Bepo was the speaker this time, murmuring sadly as he brought his fork to his mouth. “Such a shame… it’s so needless.”

“He wouldn’t be Orochi otherwise,” the Lord commented mildly, taking a sip of his wine. “Just be grateful his tantrums do not extend beyond his borders. We have enough problems as it is.”

Nami cut a slower, more delicate bite of her steak, glancing out of the corner of her eye to see Lami watching her, nodding subtly with approval. She resisted a huff, bringing the bite to her lips with enough daintiness to please the woman while keeping her ear tuned towards the Lord. She wasn’t familiar with Orochi either, aside from knowing he was the Lord of Wano.

She’d been hoping they might discuss topics she could actually use—like details about castle security or the Lord’s schedule; but they seemed more engrossed in politics than their (quite delicious) dinner. At the least, she would have thought they’d be marginally more pleasant. Honestly! A breach in the Capitol prison, the anniversary of death of Lord Crocodile’s fiance, famine in Wano… They really knew how to have cheerful dinnertime conversation.

The young maid Margarita added another log to the fire, the crackle in the hearth behind the Lord briefly overtaking the low murmur of conversation. Topics gradually shifted from Wano’s woes to lighter, if more mundane subject matter, and Nami took advantage of the table’s preoccupation to more closely observe its occupants.

Bepo and Penguin were in deep conversation with the Lord about this year’s tuna harvest. Based on her early interactions with the bear, Bepo seemed quite loyal to the Lord. It would make sense why he had been assigned her keeper if this were the case. The Lord would need someone he could trust keeping an eye on her—someone she couldn’t so easily manipulate or trick.

She’d yet to have much in the way of interactions with Penguin, but her initial suspicions were that he too was quite devoted to the Lord. She took in his relaxed posture and jovial affect, head cocking in thought. It was likely he was quite friendly with the man as well—perhaps even a friend. Likely not an egg she could crack.

Jean Bart, seated in the extra large chair beside her and taking up two place settings worth of table space, was a tough one to speculate on as well. He ate quietly, occasionally chatting with Lami or Schachi. He was friendly, certainly, and had warmed to her immediately; but there was an air of seriousness about him that belied his casual demeanor. He was worth investigating further when the opportunity presented.

She cut another strip of steak and took a dainty bite, turning her attention to the other end of the table. The man called Uni was… strange. With half his face covered by his bandana he was an impossible read, made stranger by the way he refused to remove it—even to eat. He spoke little and gave even less away. There were probably better people to focus on, though she wouldn’t rule him out entirely.

Thus, her attention turned to the final person at the table, seated across from Jean Bart: Shachi. She eyed him in her peripheral vision, carefully noting his mannerisms. He was making efforts at proper, polite dining—as though trying to impress. Oh, he was very much taken with her. If his behavior in the drawing room hadn’t been clue enough, this certainly was. True, it could be simple curiosity, but that was enough of a foot in the door.

Yes… of all the people at the table, Shachi was the weak spot. If she could get some alone time with him—even just here and there, she could slip under his skin by the end of the week. _Getting_ that time would be the hard part.

As she cut another bite of her medallion, she could feel his eyes on her. Perhaps he had sensed her gaze, or perhaps he was just sneaking glances; either way, this was her opportunity. 

Subtly, she batted her eyelashes as she took an exaggerated bite, smiling widely as she sensuously licked the juices off her lips. With a dainty finger she tucked a nonexistent hair back into her updo, trailing her fingertip along her cheek in the effort. Once she was certain she had his attention, she glanced his way, widening her eyes in mock surprise at his gaze. As expected, he took the bait.

He cleared his throat, sitting a little straighter.

“So, uhm, Miss Nami—how… how are you settling in?”

She offered him a sweet smile, glancing quickly down to her plate as she forked the last piece of meat. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, batting them once, twice—ah, a hint of a blush. Perfect!

“Just fine, I suppose,” she offered with put-on shyness. “It’s quite a room, I must admit. I don’t know what I will do with all that space.”

She laughed softly, hand delicately covering her mouth before she brought her fork to her lips. She could sense Lami side-eyeing her but deliberately ignored the woman, focusing instead on her target as she pointedly dragged her lips across the tines of the fork.

“You're… Shachi, right?”

She batted her eyelashes once more and was pleased to see his blush deepen.

“Ah… yes, that’s me.” He laughed awkwardly, fumbling with his fork. Her smile widened.

“You live here in the castle as well?”

“One floor below you, actually.”

Nami filed this information away for later, nodding politely as she took a sip of Merlot.

“What do you do around here? Lami said you were one of the Lord’s advisers?” She inquired casually, swilling her glass as she gently bit her lower lip. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow.

“Oh, um, well I—I help the Lord with—”

“He does nothing of concern to you.”

The Lord’s sharp voice cut through the spell she had been so carefully weaving and she felt her flirtatious expression fall right of her face. With a huff of irritation she threw a glare his way, finding the conversation at the head of the table at a tense standstill as Bepo and Peguin glanced warily between the two of them.

“I was just trying to make friendly conversation,” she began lightly, “After all if I’m going to be stuck here I may as well—”

“I think we both know what you were really doing.”

He gave her a pointed look before quickly throwing Shachi a reprimanding glare. The man withered and turned his face down to his place. The Lord then turned his attention back to his own meal, speaking flippantly without so much as the courtesy of a glance.

“Finish your meal in silence and then Bepo will escort you to your room.”

She snorted a derisive laugh as she set her glass down harder than intended. “I beg your pardon. If I feel like holding dinnertime conversation in the castle I am trapped in against my will, I damn well will.”

This time he spared her a sharp glance as he replied simply, warning underlying his tone, “I will not repeat myself.”

Though the fire crackled merrily in the hearth behind him, they may as well have been dining outdoors for all the frosty silence which quickly rose to fill the room. She glared at him, knowing her maneuvers were limited in such a setting—surrounded by his henchmen in a part of the castle she was unfamiliar with. Besides, she didn’t want to alienate any of the other members of the household she had yet to ingratiate herself with—Shachi in particular.

She leaned back grumpily into her chair and crossed her arms in irritation. She may be outmaneuvered, but she could still be petulant.

“Fine, silence it is, _my Lord,_ ” she bit back, reaching for her goblet. “Can’t have me interrupting your conversation about… tuna, was it?” She let out a tinkling, mocking laugh. “ _Riveting_. How _ever_ are you still single?”

He fell preternaturally still in his chair, finally turning his full attention on her. His brows were drawn down in irritation, voice low and dangerous.

“You’re skating on thin ice, Nami-ya.”

She replied with a biting, sardonic laugh. “Oh, it’s a _wonder_ you needed little old me to play the part of your fiance with a personality like that! Though, I suppose someone so _cold_ does little to warm the hearts of Flevance’s most eligible…” She casually took a sip of wine before giving him a meaningful look. “Seeing as we’re speaking of ice.”

“Do not _test me_ —”

“Or you’ll what?” she challenged, tone pitching with anger though she kept from shouting. “Hit me? Starve me? How would _that_ look to Flevance's nobility? If your fiance was pale and gaunt with a bruise around her eye. That would make for _quite_ the column in the society pages, and I'm sure, be quite convincing to your assassins that I'm so _eager_ to marry you."

She bat her eyelashes with a coy grin, watching the shift in his expression with glee. As she had in her bedroom at Robin’s apartment, she played the one and only card she had: his need for her active participation in this scheme for it to work. While she was still wary of his powers, they both knew there was a limit to the force he could exert upon her if she was to fulfill her role as his fake fiance.

His jaw was set in a furious clench as he glared at her, a tick in his brow and a twitch in his fingers. His teeth ground subtly against one another, giving away the degree of his displeasure. She smiled wider.

“I guess you’ll just have to put up with my charming personality and _trust_ I’ll pull through for you,” she said airily, arching a single eyebrow meaningfully in his direction. “Even if it means you are plagued by doubt and irritation, constantly on edge as you worry whether I’m about to ruin everything or if I’m merely making it hard on you for the fun of it. Oh what an _awful_ predicament to be put in! I can _scarcely_ imagine how that must feel.”

“Nami-ya—” he growled in warning; but she merely grinned wider, tutting at him as she brought a single finger to her lip in mock concern.

“Oh and might I recommend not grinding your teeth so hard? You might crack a tooth and wouldn’t that be a shame right before the ballet!”

_“Room!”_

A blue sphere expanded outward from his raised hand, quickly enveloping the table and growing rapidly outward through the walls. She barely had a chance to blink before the dining room disappeared before her and she was swallowed by a sense of vertigo. Then, the dim ceiling of her bedroom resolved above her, and she was falling onto her back, landing lightly atop her bed. She let out a startled gasp, head spinning as she slowly blinked to gather her bearings, eyes adjusting to the dim and the unexpected change in her location.

He… teleported her. Just like he had in the apartment. She sat up slowly, glancing around at her bedroom; and then, like the waters of a spring, laughter bubbled up and out of her throat. Though she may be his prisoner, forced into doing his dirty work and trapped beneath his thumb, at least this once she had gotten the better of him. She may end up paying for it later, but she had won this round—gotten under his skin.

And for the first time since she’d arrived, she didn’t feel quite so helpless.


End file.
